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May 14, 2014

Play Doh in My Belly Button?

crying child

Warning: naughty language ahead.

Wait, did you just wipe a booger on my face?

Oh my God…is that poop on your hands? Did you just finger paint the TV with yogurt and peanut butter? Can I please take a dump in peace? Just once? No, my penis is not a tail, stop pointing and get out so I can pee!

It’s not even 7 a.m. yet and this is my typical morning.

Not 30 seconds later, she darts out the front door, clad in only a diaper and her blankie and I’m trying to zip my fly without creating the scene from Something About Mary and without sounding and looking like a psychotic to the neighbors while I try and run down a two year old in only my shorts (which now have pee on them), covered neck to ankles in tattoos and a beard, screaming “get back inside!”

If you don’t think being a full time parent is an amazingly brutal job, think again.

I’ve done strongman, MMA, powerlifting, and I was a bouncer in downtown nightclubs for years and this two year old little girl kicks my ass unlike anything I have ever experienced.

If you want to see something funny, watch a 260 lb, 6’1″ man crying at the end of a long day because “she was mean to me!” (Seriously, she was.)

I’ve worked lots of jobs: white collar, blue collar, owned my own business, and now I just help people, write full time and try to keep my sanity while my daughter (the youngest of three daughters) giggles after wiping poop on my shirt that she freshly dug out of her diaper. From a classic of my generation: “it’s still smoking man!”

The icing on the cake is I have an anxiety disorder thanks to both genetic and environmental issues.

So, on top of trying to be Super-Dad, I try and make it through the day without panic attacks, feeling like Fat Albert is doing jumping jacks on my chest, or wanting to flee out of the grocery store because all of the senior citizens are making me socially nervous. And to think, I used to be a bouncer….don’t ask.

I won’t go into details as to what I do besides being Mr. Mom, but this is my outlet—to try and make myself laugh and maybe a few of you laugh at the same time.

Are you a stay at home mom? Maybe if you’re lucky, a heavily ridiculed stay at home dad, who is a bum for being a stay at home dad? Or maybe you deal with anxiety? Well, I hope this makes you laugh.

Oh my God, is that play doh in my belly button?

Ahh..finally, it’s nap time. I wash my hands and face, take a nice cold drink of water and sit down to read for just a few brief moments…boing boing boing…you’ve got to be kidding me…

She is using her crib like a trampoline and when I peak my head in her room, I am amazed at the vertical this child is getting.

I am more amazed that she hasn’t launched herself out like a human cannon ball into the mountain of stuffed animals on the opposite side of her room.

I try a fresh bottle…nope…I try a story…nope…I try singing..yeah that’s really not gonna help because I sound like I gargle razor blades for a living. So, I guess we’re not napping today. Let’s try and watch some cartoons…Mickey Mouse is always good for a few minutes at least.

So, moving right along into the evening….

It was 84 degrees in the house and according to the astrology channel..I mean weather channel, 87% humidity.

Needless to say, this chubby Ohioan was sweating like a hippo in a sauna; washing the dishes with all that lovely hot water wasn’t helping. Before I knew it, my shorts were around my ankles and my daughter was laughing like she just finished doing wippets with laughing gas and yelling (windows open to the neighborhood), “daddy stinky booty!”

Now, my booty..my butt, didn’t stink.

Well…It was a long sweaty day…anyway…she says that because every time I change her diaper, I say, “root a toot tooty, Brynn has a stinky booty.” Well, that has turned into every time I have to pee, or change, or have the accidental boxer exposure, daddy has a stinky booty and the whole world knows it now.

So, hands dripping with hot soapy water, dignity in full un check, i bent over to pull up my pants, while my hairy bits were in full moon.

No sooner had I finished and resumed my chore, did she sneak up on me again and pants me, but also managed to slap a paint covered hand on my Casper-like cheeks.

Wait..where did you get that paint?

Bryyyyyyyyynnnn!!

So now, running like a jiggling fur bound saltine through the house, paint on cheek, paint on baby, and behold…paint all over the wall.

You’ve got to be kidding me! How did you get a hold of that?

That was in the closet, up on the shelf, where you moved a chair, and climbed up and…omg. So now..what to do. Baby has paint on her hands; dad has paint on his butt and is essentially naked and trying not to trip…

Scoop up the baby, clothes and all, hop into the shower rinse off, strip her down, hop out, two pasty Celts running around like a father and baby nudist colony.

I sure hope this is washable paint.

I run to the kitchen, grab a roll of paper towels. Thankfully it all came off. I’m on a full blown Seinfeld bad naked moment (which is every naked I am in) and the front door is open…”Daddy stinky booty!!!”

 

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Editor: Renée Picard

Image: Joe Green at Flickr 

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