I love my kids, I just hate parenting
This is the invitation I received in my email inbox just moments ago: Really? The Potty Dance? Come on, people. I dread the days when the word “potty” becomes a part of my vocabulary. I already say the words “Babies R Us” far too often. If I ever say the words, or participate in somethingRead more about What’s Happened to My Life?[…]
I posted recently about all the wacky gifts my baby son received this holiday season: clothes he’ll outgrow in two weeks, toys he won’t be able to use for two months, books he won’t be able to read for two years, and devices that make enough noise to ensure I’ll be insane in two minutes.
But there was one gift he received that stood above all others. But I’ll be damned if I’m ever going to let him use it…
…was a fur-less baby that can’t even talk.
Click below for more – including a picture!
I’ve talked before about all the crap babies need to live. Crap like milk and bottles and cribs and pacifiers and Bumbos and Pack’n’Plays and breasts and onesies and socks and car-seats and strollers and mobiles and mobiles that play music and stuffed animals and pacifiers that taste like breasts and formula and butt paste and baby wipes and diaper genies and diapers and Baby Bjorn Borgs and gag rags and ohmygod makeitstop whatamImadeofmoney nowIsoundlikemydad Iwanttodie.
My apartment is already swamped with this stuff. And fine, I anticipated that. But somehow I never made the connection between those supplies and the need to purchase them.
My wife’s baby shower was all well and good – good times, good friends, good food, and plenty of the essentials needed to prevent a newborn from swallowing its own face. But, as grateful as we are for the incredible generosity of our friends and family, CAN SOMEONE PLEASE THROW US ANOTHER SHOWER?
If I have to spend another minute inside Babies ‘R Us or Buy Buy Baby or Infant-Mart or FleshBlobs, Bath and Beyond, I may just kill everyone I see. Except for the employees at Babies ‘R Us.