The Crappiest Blog Ever - part 1

Daddy has some rage issues. There are a couple of things that will set him off and we are putting out the public service announcement so that you can avoid being in the vicinity when he 'goes off'. We are planning to make a series of PSA's regarding the different issues (whether we get to it or not is another question...we are our father's daughters). Today's issue...fecal contact.

Daddy never realized that this was an issue until some time around the 13th or 14th of September in the year of our lord, 2008. That was the day that our kind-hearted and loving father first exhibited his uncontrollable anger (for which we have encouraged therapy or hypnosis).

Allow us to set the stage: It was a lovely fall day, although none of us would know because we hadn't left the hospital in 2 or 3 days. Some of us may have been showing minute (with a long 'U'...we love homographs) signs of fatigue (due to the odd custom of waking every 2 hours). We were somewhat dirty and it was Daddy's turn to attempt his first daughter-bathing session. Once a bowl, warm water, a towel and baby soap were procured, our father actually looked like he was looking forward to it.

The bathing of the 4dub was fairly uneventful and Daddy was already perfecting his technique in preparation for 3dub. The next steps are best told using bullets...little snapshots of each scene (like a tableau, if you will...)

-3dub is gently place in the water
-a wash-cloth is used to carefully wet the head
-3dub is lathered up with soap, at which point, the legs bend
-a confused look on Daddy's face
-a fart like you'd expect from a trucker sounds throughout the room
-a look of terror which turns to panic as it sets in what is about to occur
-Daddy's looks at Mommy, almost begging, as if she would know what to do...Mommy just gives him a grin (the sort of grin that says, "I'm glad I'm not you")

The explosion that followed was not anything that one would normally expect from a 3-day old child, but I tell you now, it's a good thing Daddy was standing slightly to the side because the force with which that feces came out could easily have taken off a limb. The crap comes out at a staggering pace, Daddy lets out a small, almost inaudible scream, as it catches the side of his shirt and pants. Witnesses claim that it actually hung in mid-air, for just a split second, before flying across the room to slam into the curtain (a good 7 or 8 feet away). There may or may not have been some retching as Mommy bursts into laughter (again, witnesses say she may have pointed as she laughed although this can't be verified). Mommy then leaves the room, presumably for more towels to aid in the clean-up (to the relief of Daddy).

Now, despite how the next part may come of looking a bit disparaging for some parties, we believe that the truth is important and so we state the facts (leaving you to judge for yourselves).

Mommy had not left to get towels. In fact, Mommy went to get a nurse. To aid in the clean-up, you ask? Nay, dear friend. Mommy wanted someone else to behold the spectacle, so she returned with the nurse that she knew would laugh at Daddy covered in crap and holding a soapy baby. We believe that this is the point that started Daddy's "issue".

If you could help encourage our father toward therapy of some sort, we would greatly appreciate it...