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I'M A BREEDER
by: McClain

Lately I haven't had the opportunity to pour out some of the creative juices brewing in my brain. The past five months of my life have been a whirlwind of activity and emotional buzz with enough stimulus to counter the effects of three large Quaalude's. I don't really know what sizes Quaalude's come in, but using my imagination, I see them being roughly the size of clay pigeons.

On Thanksgiving Day, 2003, I was partially credited for bringing new life in to this world. I say partially because as much as I'd like to take full credit for this event, my wife did play a small part in the conception. Albeit small, it was a vital role. It's not easy to find a dead horse to have sex with. Please don't take that out of context. It's actually very easy to find a dead horse to have sex with.

So after I stuck my penis in her vagina (my wife, not the horse) we begat life. Halle Rose was born on November 27th. The diameter of her head, much like my giant quaalude, was the size of a clay pigeon. Fortunate for me, I managed to keep my head forward of the happenings down below. But as hard as I tried not to peak, I just couldn't help looking. No disgusting analogy can do the event justice. But just in case, let's try a couple!

* Like watching a bloody melon squeeze through two cuts of swollen, raw sirloin.

* Like watching the insides of Chicken Cordon Bleu squirt out, except instead of cheese and diced ham, it's a giant, slime-covered ham that blinks. BLINKS!

If I haven't yet deterred you from having children, please read on. Since that day, life has been nonstop fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants (if you can even find them amidst a pile of vomit-ridden burp cloths and seedy-mustard-shit diapers) action. They tell you that your life will take a serious change once the baby arrives. That statement doesn't do justice. Social life? Out the window. Personal time? Out the window. Subscription to Naughty Neighbors? Out the window. My wife threw them out the window.

Then there's the sleep. If you're anything like me (hairy back), you cherish sleep. You love sleep. People make fun of you because you're in bed at 9:30 on a Saturday evening. But you don't care. YOU LOVE SLEEP!

With a baby, you kinda' forget what it's like to have real sleep. Before you had a child you lived a sedentary life with the occasional excursion. Nothing too taxing on your system. Now, you're up all day bouncing the baby and holding the baby. Feeding the baby and rocking the baby. Changing the baby's diaper and trying to figure why the baby is crying. WHY IS THE BABY STILL CRYING? "Give it milk!" I GAVE IT MILK! "Check her diaper!" IT WAS DRY! "Burp it!" I DID BURP IT WHAT IS GOING ON? "Calm down. Babies can sense tension!" I DID THAT, TOO! HOLY SHIT HER FACE IS TURNING RED AND SOME SORT OF LIQUID IS SEEPING FROM HER EYES! CALL THE DOCTOR!

What I'm trying to say about sleep is that once you have a child, there are no more opportunities to make up for lost sleep. And guess what happens to you when you don't get enough sleep?

You turn in to a whiny, irritable bitch. I mean really. A bitch! Lately, my wife and I have been on each other's last nerve. "íDon't swaddle the baby that way?í What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" "You think you have all the answers!" "Don't rub the diaper-rash cream in! Just smear it you dumbass!"

You can spend an entire day pissed off at your significant other and not know why. I don't know why I hate your guts right now, but I do and it's because you did something to piss me off and it had something to do with the baby.

And babies are selfish! I bet no one told you that one, either. All they do is think about number one and the parents instantaneously become mere providers. Mommy = milk jugs, Daddy = Good Swaddler.

During a late night session with Halle, I was using all means to get her to sleep. This is a common tactic employed by parents; do any and everything you can to get the baby to sleep. Whisper in their ear. Bounce them. Rock them. Turn off the lights. Turn on the lights. Play music. Turn on the television. Pacifier! Swing! Sing? Cradle! SNUGGLI? CARSEAT? CAR RIDE? LATE-NIGHT WALK? WHY ISNíT ANY OF THIS WORKING?!

Over the course of a few minutes her eyes would slowly close and relief would come over me. At the first thought of putting her back in her crib, her eyes would pop open as if to say, "HAHA dad! Fooled you! I'm WIDE AWAKE!" So I'd grit my teeth, beg and plead to god for my child to fall into a deep slumber. One that would keep her comatose for 8 hours. Okay, Iím lying. I actually prayed for 8 days. Is that wrong?

At that particular moment of trying to rock my daughter to sleep, she fixed her giant blue eyes with mine and formed a smile. It was a toothless smile; gums from ear to ear. My heart melted and my disposition changed. This kid has me wrapped around her tiny little finger and I'm not ashamed to say it. I don't care what you say, there is nothing more rewarding than to see my child smile - and there's no way to truly understand that unless you have your own.

Amidst all the confusion, chaos and lack of intercourse, your child will use a smile as a beacon of light. It will remind you that despite your superior intelligence and ability to provide, even on a fledgling level, youíre merely a puddle of smitten goo in the palm of your childís hand.

And I guess what Iím trying to say is that it doesnít take much to completely change your life. And you canít truly understand the joy of having a child unless you have one.

But I wouldnít recommend having one. 

note: McClain is currently building a barricade around his big toy collection in hopes that Halle won't be able to puke all over them.


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