Babyhood (9780062098788) by Paul Reiser Page A

“Nearer My God to Thee,” and, if I’m not mistaken, a lovely medley from Carousel.
    And this is a newborn—imagine if he took a lesson.
    A nd one more thing (and I swear this is the last thing I’m going to say about poop). Sometimes when you’re changing the baby, you may notice that there is a—and I’m really not trying to be rude—but sometimes you notice a big stain in the middle of the baby’s back. Not a continuous stain, mind you. Not a trail from the diaper all the way up his pajamas, but rather a little special area in the middle, stretched out in the shape of Cuba. Above it and below, it’s totally clean.
    So first of all, I have to ask—how do you poop up ? It’s not like the baby was swinging upside down. He wasn’t hanging by his feet from a trapeze and the roar of the crowd made him lose it. He was sitting down, like a regular person, and this stuff flew up.
    But even more mystifying to me, how did it skip the area leading up to the spot? Right before Cuba, it’s clean and laundered. The little Gulf of Mexico area is unscathed. It’s a phenomenon.
    My theory—because I have given this thought—is that this particular skill may be a remnant of prehistoric times that slowly, as we’ve evolved, became obsolete. Something we no longer needed—like the Tail. Maybe thousands of years ago it was important. To a lizard. It’s possible that to a lizard, pooping straight up was not only vital to survival, but perhaps even a sign of impressive upbringing. Picture two lizards at the sink in the ladies’ room.
    â€œAnd this guy I just met, he is so cool. Really great skin, totally scaly, and long. And get this: He can poop 140 feet straight up. Standing on the ground, he can actually hit a pterodactyl in the throat.”
    â€œWhat a dreamboat . . .”

The Big Tired Elephant
    W hen you’re the parents of a new child, all the craving and desire you’ve ever felt for sex is transferred over to sleep. It’s like somebody sneaked into your brain, found the wires going to the sex button and the sleep button, and just switched them.
    I didn’t realize how extensive the change was till I found myself one day staring at a lingerie ad with a photo of a beautiful, seductive, young woman sprawled practically naked across a satin-sheeted bed, and all I could think was, “Man, that bed looks comfortable.”

I’ve Never Been
This Tired, Ever
    N o question about it, sleep deprivation is the worst thing about being a new parent. Period, end of discussion. Given the choice, I would gladly diaper my kid into his late twenties if for those same years you promised me a solid eight hours a night.
    Being sleep deprived (or the politically correct “consciousness challenged”) is like undergoing a medical experiment. One by one, you watch your mental faculties slip away.
    The first to go is language. Sometime during those forty-five minutes between feedings when you actually are asleep, a little man comes and takes your nouns away.
    â€œHoney, when you go to the uh . . .”
    â€œTo the what?”
    â€œTo the . . . whad’ya call it . . . the place? With the things . . . they have things that you can buy . . .”
    â€œThe store?”
    â€œYes, thank you. To the store . . . Make sure we pick up some . . . some, uh . . .”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œLittle . . . um . . .”
    â€œWhat do you want?”
    â€œYou know. They’re small, you stick them in the ears . . .”
    â€œ Earrings? ”
    â€œNo. Fuzzy things.”
    â€œQ-Tips?”
    â€œYes, exactly. Q-Tips.”
    This, of course, presumes you have the strength to get that much of a sentence out. During our child’s first few months, my wife and I both thought we were going deaf. We literally could not hear half of every sentence spoken. It