Daddy's Baptism by Pee (a nostalgic remembrance)

I write a lot of nonsense emails while at work (memo to bosses: during lunch hour, of course; during productive, money-making time, I surf ESPN).  I've been told by my London-based agent -- he also reps J.K. Rowling, so he doesn't take my calls -- that I should post them on my pathetic excuse for a blog, just to prove that I do occassionally have a fleeting spark of creativity which leads to something, anything, tangible.  Below is one such example, written many eons ago when our first boy, Isaac, was an adorable wee tyke with a bladder larger than Secretariat's.  I think I will treat this as the first entry in my "Unconventional Child-Rearing Tips for the Misguided and/or Grossly Negligent Parent" series.  Our next urine-centric entry -- it's a popular theme -- might be "What to do when your mischievous boys, unwisely left alone in the bathroom, hilariously drink (well, at the very least sip) each other's pee out of Dixie cups instead of brushing their teeth and rinsing like they were supposed to."  Btw, I think Tara made me sign a Confidentiality Agreement never again to discuss the horrific, emotionally traumatizing "Pee Incident" and its aftermath.  So that disclosure may land me in solitary. 


I got the chance -- that is, Tara, despite harboring grave doubts about my abilities -- allowed me to watch Isaac all by my Mr.. Mom self last Saturday, for a whole 8 hours. I had to feed him ("Honey, he's two months old and has no teeth. You can't give him Kix cereal."), change him ("Honey, make sure you don't put his diaper on backwards again. And try to keep the Desitin out of his hair.") and keep the dogs from licking his face after drinking out of the toilet. Simple.


When my Mom found out about my first "solo" mission, she actually offered to drive 4 hours from Virginia to "help" me. Hello?! How pathetic do these people think I am? My son and I were going to have a swell time all by ourselves, thank you very much.

I'm pleased to report -- as an unbiased observer -- that I did a great job, meaning that as far as I know, Isaac did not swallow any sharp, foreign objects or play with matches while in my care. Prior to leaving us, Tara had pumped about 3 bottles of breast milk for our hungry man to chug-a-lug. I've learned that breast milk is a more valuable and precious commodity than diamonds. (Oh, and I've been told that the "breast pump experience" is not unlike strapping the sucking end of a commercial grade Honda leaf blower to one's bosom. Fortunately, I'll never be able to verify this.) Tara warned me that if I spilled Mommy's Milk, or wasted it (what was I going to do? -- squirt it at the dogs just for kicks?) or forgot to put it back in the fridge and let it spoil, she'd have me murdered.

Isaac guzzled that milk like an alcoholic at Oktoberfest slugging pints of Guinness. However, I was surprised to discover that the amount of time it takes a baby to turn milk into urine is approximately 34 seconds. In the span of one hour, I think I changed 5 wet diapers. This kid needs to learn how to use the toilet, pronto. Anyway, it was on the fifth diaper change when Isaac did his best impression of a Super Soaker.

He was wiggling around on the changing table, waving his arms and generally enjoying having no pants on. Just as I was about to put on the new diaper, a faint but unmistakable smile crept across his face, and the pee started flowing. This was not a "tinkle." It was more like a garden hose turned on "jet." Stunned, my primal fight or flight instinct kicked in and I leaped back about 5 feet, which saved me from a direct hit. I think I might have yelled "No, Isaac, outside! Outside!" before collecting myself. With mounting panic, I saw that Isaac's mighty bladder was still pumping. I knew I had to stop the flow, but how? I thought about smothering the stream at its source with the diaper -- still clutched in my left hand -- but worried that would merely deflect the spray in other directions. Instead, I decided to "catch" the pee with the diaper, sort of a Star Wars missile shield defense for airborne pee. This technique was not as effective as I had hoped. I did manage to sop up most of the pee drizzle that got on the carpet with one of Tara's thick, wool socks (surprisingly absorbant), which I then stuffed in the hamper to dry.

All in all though, I'd say Dad's Day with Isaac was a rousing success. And I learned one important parenting lesson that I'm happy to pass on to all the other new fathers:

In child rearing, as in auto repair, the right tools make all the difference. Never use a diaper to catch pee. Instead, use one of your wife's large mixing bowls, preferably not the one she uses to make pie dough.