By INIGO 'NAUGHTY' ZENICAZELAYA
Messy Millennials, Toxic Babies
As I sat doing a live remote from Dunkin Donuts last Friday, I got to see a young father, maybe a first timer even, have a ‘special moment’ with his child.
Sadly for everyone else in the store, his child shared that special moment with us also.
Fatherhood has its many ups and downs, joy, pain, smiles and tears.
It is also filled with aromatic gifts from the precious new additions to families. In a nutshell, baby farts are far more lethal than those of full grown functioning adults.
As grotesque as it sounds, over the years, I’ve become somewhat of a fart connoisseur, having smelt and dealt with the best of them.
In college I was so good at dropping silent but violent bombs (the Stealth Bomber had nothing on me) I garnered the nickname (one of many) “Funky Nassau”.
However, since becoming a father, I have realised through several smelly encounters that even the gnarliest “Frat boy” loaded up on the hippest fast food fare and creamy lattes and frappucinos, topped off with vast quantities of their favorite “livation” and late night “chicken in da bag” are no match for a six month old loaded up on breast milk, formula, baby cereal and baby food (with its wonderful selection of “healthy choices” such as squash, green peas, pumpkin, banana, and carrots just to name a few).
These ‘healthy’ nutritional food options for your toddler are one thing going in, a whole new world coming out.
Daddy diaper duty has led me to discovering “The Carbonic Assigas”.
This is a gaseous build up in the bowels of your toddler that usually goes undetected and causes little or no distress to your child. It does, however, cause problems to your child’s family (you) and your peer group once released.
That’s exactly what happened to the young father the other morning, he got “assigased”, and I must admit I enjoyed watching the “rookie Dad” cringe through the entire “stinking” (literally) ordeal.
I don’t know if scientists have documented this, but I think “baby farts” can be considered “chemical warfare”.
As I sat there watching the “rookie Dad” psyche himself up, readying himself to change his proginy’s diaper in short order, and lose some nose hairs in the process.
I was reminded of a similar situation, that happened to me when I was a “rookie Dad.”
My wife was at the beauty salon for some well deserved pampering, and I had to watch the kids.
My oldest son had gorged himself on two bottles of milk, cereal, applesauce and a couple of zwieback biscuits, not to mention the apple juice he guzzled out of his “Sippy Cup”.
After walking 2,158 steps trying to get him to sleep, the circulation in my arm had stopped, and I was sweating like I had run several games of full court basketball.
I needed a break.
My mind was on the ice cold ‘switcha’ in the fridge, so I slid my son in his walker and bee-lined it to the fridge to pour my drink, chug it down and dash back to my boy without missing a beat.
Why the paranoid rush to get a well deserved refreshment?
Simple, nothing is happening on my watch. I could never live that down.
On my way back to my den I could smell a rather unpleasant aroma, which was indeed pungent to the nostrils.
The closer I got, the more putrid the air became; it was definitely a strong nine out of 10 on the fart scale.
Honestly, it made my eyes burn and water (it was giving ‘mace’ a real run for its money.).
I was about to “stop, drop and roll” as the heat (along with its smell) had me in fear of some sort of combustible reaction.
It was at that very moment I noticed my wife’s Shih Tzu completely laid out on the floor in a canine coma.
Instantly, I knew what had happened; the poor Shih Tzu had run headlong (and mouth open) into the initial blast of my son’s “Carbonic Assigas”.
As alert as animals usually are, the poor dog never saw or smelled it coming.
On The Run
Hoping to wait it out until my wife’s return so she could face whatever was in that kid’s diaper, I became distraught when she informed me that due to freshly polished, wet nails, I would be on diaper duty for the rest of the afternoon.
So I mustered what little bravado I had at that moment and decided to take the bull by the horn.
With wipes in hand and fresh new diapers my back pocket, I bravely went in…
And what I saw changed my life!
What went into my child as pretty orange carrots, yellow corn and sweat potato came out florescent green and deadly.
Half an hour later, when I was finally done changing my son, I stood there traumatised; that diaper looked like a hot, molten, piece of lava, just smoldering and emitting toxic fumes.
In my delirium, I started thinking how old baby diapers could be used as chemical weapons to protect our borders from illegal immigration.
The scent alone from them baking in the sun, wafting out to sea could turn boatloads of illegal immigrants back. And think how cost effective that would be since one dirty diaper could surely cover miles of shore.
There must be some use for dirty baby diapers, right?
Maybe we could let teenagers smell the really horrid ones; maybe that would help curb teen pregnancy.?
But I digress.
My only solace is that one day my kids will have to take care of me and maybe they’ll have to change my diapers.
If that day ever comes you can bet the house I will have a rainbow of colours waiting on them in my Depends.
Truthfully, after what I’ve been through, I am kind of looking forward to it.
Until next week, laugh now, cry later !