A Dad's Unique Explanation Of Having Kids We Can All Laugh At Because It's So True

Someone asked the question "What is it that nobody tells you about having kids?" on a forum. This dad decided to chime in, explaining kids from babies through to their teenage years, and it was too good not to share...





If there's one thing I know (Besides how to power my alarm clock with a quickly decaying potato [Thanks scouts!]) it's that for all intents and purposes, a baby is the equivalent of a tiny severely, astonishingly, incomprehensibly intoxicated elderly midget and you are responsible for it.

When you learn you are about to become a parent, what you're essentially being informed of is that for the next twelve to fifteen years, you are going to be the metaphorical equivalent of a designated driver. Because you have to get the drunks home; The drunks in this analogy being your child and home being adulthood.

Now by designated driver, I don't mean you can't drink. Far from it. In fact, I'm not entirely sure it's possible to raise kids without at least occasionally being completely intoxicated. My father once said "The day I can't do my job drunk is the day I hang up my school-bus keys." What I'm saying is you're the one with the keys. If you're not immediately hip to this analogy, allow me to elaborate on the clear similarities between your child and the average Prom queen after her eighth Pomegranate Appletini.

I'll work from the sober phase to drunk because that's how I normally do it anyway...

Around fourteen or fifteen years of age your kid is basically just a little buzzed and a little stupid but you can mostly leave them to their own devices. I'll not elaborate because this stage is the most boring. I mean, they're not funny or cool and they don't think you're funny or cool. You're basically both just waiting for the kid to graduate and leave the house. At about twelve years old your little one is basically like your buddy who's had a few too many during a dinner party but think's they're fine to drive.

They may walk fairly straight and they're not exactly slurring their words but you don't want them getting a hold of the keys anytime soon and you're certainly not going to give in to their constant insistence that they are fully capable of giving you a tat with their brothers homemade tattoo gun. You still need to do the driving. Just to be safe. It's really the first three or four years that the comparison really matters because at this point you're child is a danger to you, themselves and pretty much anyone near them. So let's talk about that.

At about two to three years of age, your kiddo is kind of like that dude at the frat party who did a couple Jaeger shots and then lost in beer pong. This guy is totally trashed but able to walk with confidence, speak in a lispy slurred manner and make every decision based on his very first impulse. Rocket down the stairs on a metal Tonka truck that is only slightly larger than a loaf of bread? Let's rock! Climb on to the roof and descend with a flimsy umbrella like Wile E. Coyote? Why not?! Now this guy is your buddy and you want him to feel independent but he's a freaking danger. You need to keep an eye on him. You have to take a look fairly often when you hear a loud thump from the other room or when you hear him tell one of his friends "Watch this!". Also, you have to keep a first aid kit handy because this guy hits his head on everything and is incapable of going outside without removing the skin from his knees and palms. (Peeing of the pants is not uncommon.)

At about a year or so your child is kind of like that ninety pound cheerleader who bumps into you as you walk into a highs school kegger. She's able to walk (poorly), she can make occasionally intelligible noises and bounces off every side of the hall as she makes her way to the patio to try and crawl over the railing and scream the year of her graduating class or to proclaim that her parents are a-holes. At this point your child has two speeds: stopped and full throttle. They go from a total standstill to a top heavy bowlegged sprint towards the most dangerous thing in the room. They can only speak in gibberish and their depth perception is freaking terrible. Expect them, like the ninety pound cheerleader, to wake up with a lot of unexplainable bruises.

Your job at this point is to turn them around when they sprint in the direction of eminent death and to take away any glass or ceramic items they decide to examine with their clumsy hands and their propensity to study anything by holding it as high above their head as possible. But the real humdinger is that first few weeks. When your child is born they are in the "Borderline dead from alcohol poisoning phase." At this point they cannot speak, they cannot roll over on their own power, they cannot see and are generally totally unresponsive to outside stimuli. Also, they throw up a lot… And I mean a lot.

I actually think we should have cut our daughter's formula with lard because she was spitting up so much there was simply no way the tiny bit of vile warm nutrient cocktail in her tiny belly was actually providing any sort of sustenance. My wife vetoed this plan and I will never forgive her for her clear lack of vision and total short-sightedness (I love you, sweetheart). At this point you have to make sure they don't choke to death on their vomit, suffocate because they're stuck on their belly and keep them from falling off the bed to their brittle doom. But it's important that you be mindful of your child's feelings.

Just a like a drunk, they are sensitive and emotional. If you block a drunk from entering a kitchen repeating in a firm tone, "No- HOT, no-no- HOT." They may become agitated and scream and or cry. Respect their position on the matter.

And for God's sake, have a heart and understand their reaction if they become upset when you pick them up, pull open the back of their pants in front of the whole world and check to make sure they haven't pooped themselves. Drunk people and babies hate that. Especially drunk people.


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