Most parents imagine great things for their infants; future world leader, future Nobel Prize winning scientist, future Olympic bronze-medal winning trampoline “athlete.” Perhaps the two months that I’ve been on lock down with my son has caused me to be a bit touched, but my dreams for him are more pedestrian and much more immediate. In my mind he is already dominating the infant stand-up circuit with material such as this.
A lot of times I wake up in the middle of the night and start crying just to get my parents in the room. I’ve got nothing going on, I’m just bored and figure that if I can’t sleep, my servants shouldn’t sleep either. Oh, you don’t think they’re my servants? Then why are they constantly running around cleaning up my shit? I don’t even have to ask or give instructions; they’re just tripping over themselves to wipe my butt. It’s like they think if they rub it enough, pearls are going to start popping out my sphincter.
Now, I’m not saying they like cleaning the filthy diapers, they actually seem to hate it, which makes their servitude all the more astonishing. But I really love screwing with my parents fear of changing the poop diapers. Sometimes when I don’t have to shit at all, I’ll lay on back and hold my breath until my face turns ladybug red. Then I’ll start kicking my legs violently, like I’m kicking some five-week old’s ass. I throw in a few grunts and the next thing you know dad’s in a tizzy either peering into my diaper or making some lame-ass excuse to get my mom over to check for fecal damage. Those moments of hysteria are why are I smile; it has nothing to do with gas.
When I really do have a big one brewing, I sit silently and let it flow like a lava field. Damn I love the look on their faces when the smell of destruction fills the room.
Another way I like to screw with the servants is to wriggle away from the burp cloth to see how much spit-up I can get on them. That might sound mean, but those people are sadists; no matter what I throw at them, they say they love me, kiss me and come back for more.
- Spit up on the neck: goochie goo, I love you.
- Pee in the face: goochie goo, I love you
- Poop on the fingers: goochie goo, I love you
In three years-time, they’ll be wondering why I don’t respect them.
