Our friend L___ gave us a book called The Poo Bomb, by a chap called Jeff Vogel. The book is an uncompromising and unsentimental diary of what Mr Vogel encounters during his daughter's first year. K___ read it first and I've been reading a few pages in the bath every morning.
(I'm taking a paragraph break so that those who know me can rid themselves of the images of me in the bath)
(I'm taking another paragraph break so that those who hadn't considered thinking about me in the bath until I just mentioned it can rid themselves of the images. It's better if you do. How could anyone else compare?)
I finished it this morning (you know - whilst I was in the bath. Naked. Mmmmm).
Mr Vogel isn't much of a one for sacred cows. If there's someone he can try and offend, he will. He's hugely disparaging about how inane most parenting books are. He refuses to get excited about the notion of giving up his freedom to look after a thing that sleeps, lies, cries and poops and not a lot else. There's jokes about god, eating disorders, sex, hippies... oh, and shit.
There's an awful lot of stuff, jokes and observations about shit. As you'll know, I've acknowledged the whole toxic waste issue in this Blog. I always knew there would be cack involved in this baby thing. However, Mr Vogel has managed to introduce a few concepts about babies and plop that I was far too innocent to even begin to imagine. The scales have been further lifted from my eyes.
I mentioned how we were at my parents the other day. We talked about The Poo Bomb and my mum and dad agreed that actually, I was okay and so was my youngest brother, C__. I'm sure it wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't too bad. It was dealable. The middle brother, E___... well, he was a different matter. His crap was the fecal equivalent of napalm and so noxious that according to my mother, his whole bottom was literally red raw for months. My father remembered it by going slightly green and saying the memories were still too vivid for him. Mr Vogel, it seems, tells the truth.
Ultimately, however, I am not as cynical as Mr Vogel. One of my readers has implied that I am hideously naive in much of what I write on this Blog. This is undoubtedly true, and why I've written 'come and read my naive and wrong opinions...' at the head of this page. Of course, she's just a bitter, empty husk of a former human being having already done this twice and about to go through it a third time. Mr Vogel talks about this situation and he recommends that existing parents lie to the childfree and pretend it's fulfilling and full of wonder in order to draw them into the same web of despair that they now inhabit.
I can't see that I could be quite as cynical as Mr Vogel even if I never got another wink of sleep in my life, but he's certainly an antidote to saccharine sweet notions of parenting.
My absolute favourite line involves Jeff going to the convenience store late at night to buy baby food. Jeff is not much enamoured with the choices on offer, opining that no sane, discerning being would go for the bizarre combinations they offer. Eventually, he plumps for 'Shredded Monkey and Ass' flavours. Still breaks me up!
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