My Son is F’ing with Me!

I spent close to 14 years working in radio before I took my current position as Dad to Jack. I used to think radio was the greatest job in the world. I had no idea. My life is exponentially better in my current status. I get to wear pajamas all day. During his naps I can workout, write, catch up on my relationships, or take a nap of my own. Plus, my boss can’t talk. Most importantly, though, I get to witness every single second of his development and hang out with him all day listening to tunes and dancing. Staying at home every day with my little Dudicle, while sometimes more challenging than radio ever was to me, is my favorite job of all time. I know how lucky I am. However, I also know that my son is fucking with me.

As he has gotten older, he has learned to make more noises, control more body parts, and notice the connection between action and reaction. He is also learning very quickly how to fuck with me. He’ll cry, but only when I’m trying to talk on the phone. He’ll whine, but only when I’m trying to eat. He’ll take a dump, but only after I’ve just changed his diaper. He’ll try to talk up a storm, but only when I’m trying to catch those last few precious moments of sleep. My wife laughs it all off as coincidence, but I am convinced that he knows what he is doing, and he will eventually get what’s coming to him.

Take for instance, diaper time. I used to hold the land speed record for diaper changing, with cloth diapers no less. I could do it in the dark, I could do it one handed, and I could do it drunk, always faster than you could say “Pampers.” Now, however, he has decided that diaper time is the right time…to fuck with me. First it was the kicking. He would move his legs as fast as he could like he was trying to beat Michael Phelps in the 4 x 100 relay, alternately pounding them into the changing table while avoiding my grasp. He’d kick the wipes off the table, he’d kick the diaper out of my hand, he’d kick his foot right into the pile of his own feces. Grab one foot, he’d use the other to blindside you. Grab both feet, then he’d enact tactic number two, the rollover.

All the while, I’m trying to remove the soiled diaper, keep the cover out of the shit, keep him out of the shit, wipe the shit and piss off of him, move the dirty diaper to safety, fold a new diaper, and get it in the cover and under his ass, only to have it kicked off behind the changing table again. Then it gets tricky. You have to try to grab the new diaper from the floor behind the changing table while keeping him from kicking or rolling himself off of said table and onto the floor as well. He thinks it’s hysterical.

You know what else he thinks is hysterical? Peeing everywhere as soon as fresh air hits his junk. Sure, I know what you are thinking, “rookie move.” I would agree, as I learned to cover up his little pecker on day one. However, after months of not peeing randomly during diaper changes, I got cocky, and the little dude’s little cock has now gotten me four times in a week. I know this isn’t my fault. It has nothing to do with whether I cover him up or not; I haven’t since the first month. He’s doing it on purpose. It’s like he’s holding it in until I get his diaper off, and then turning on the hose just to spite me.

His pee surprise usually hits a nearby clean diaper, soaks his onesie, and if he’s really aiming right, sometimes he’ll have the distance to hit the wall or ceiling. Luckily, I usually dodge the stream, often by chance, and he’s the one taking it in the face. He laughs and laughs and laughs, and I have to clean up the mess. Jack loves giving himself “golden showers.” I guess he’s just perverted like that.

When he’s not engaging in his favorite urine fetish, Jack is usually eating. This opens up a whole other world of possibilities to mess with me, and he takes full advantage. Now that he holds his own bottle and can feed himself, he likes to take it from me, start to eat, and once I leave the room toss the bottle as far as he can. I pick it back up, hand it to him, and he starts eating again dutifully until I turn my back. Then he launches a Jay Cutler like spiral to the dog. He is either incredibly gifted and likes to show off his arm, or merely fucking with me. I’m betting the latter; that’s what separates me from other parents.

When I’ve had enough of playing fetch the bottle, I’ll usually move on to the baby food. It’s kind of funny, I’ve always heard so many stories about kids getting food everywhere when trying to eat, but Jack had maybe one day of that, and since then he makes sure it all gets into his mouth. If it were up to him, he’d eat everything. There’s no wasting food for this guy, unless its a casualty of humoring himself. He loves to eat, but he loves to fuck with me even more.

He’ll sit in his high chair very still and allow me to feed him a few spoonfuls before aggressively slamming his hand onto the tray in front of him repeatedly and laughing. He’ll grab for the spoon while yelling, grab for the bowl or food container while screeching, try to rip off his bib and stuff it in his mouth, turn his head as I bring the spoon towards him, and not relent with this combo of violent thrashing, talking, and avoidance until I get frustrated. Sometimes I think they really need to invent handcuffs for babies. Then he’ll sit still and smile with a “why aren’t you feeding me that food?” look and eat the rest of it in silence.

Sure, you’ll say, “he’s just a baby, that’s what babies do sometimes.” But I know better. He only does these things for me, and to me. He doesn’t do them when there are witnesses. He rarely acts this way towards mom. But I see it. He has this look on his face every single time, like he’s laughing at me on the inside. To others, he’s a perfect angel of a child, and I wouldn’t disagree. He is the greatest. But like Transformers, there’s more to him than meets the eye. He takes great joy in fucking with me, and I know I probably totally deserve it. But just remember my Jackie boy, payback is a bitch and I’ve got nothing but time.