|Picture courtesy of www.cracked.com|
You see, where I come from, we don't take the words "involved dad" lightly. "In for a penny, in for a pound," I say. And this means in sickness, health, and when you're hugging the porcelain thrown wishing for death because the stomach bug you have contracted from your now perfectly healthy child has taken over all of your bodily functions.
Yes, the stomach flu is an evil, evil thing, but when you can't lift your body off the couch to make it in enough time to throw up in the toilet, so is any kind of responsibility. I'm talking responsibility to your spouse, your dog, and especially your child (or god forbid...children). Now, this wouldn't be such a problem if you were the only one who contracted this most heinous of horrible afflictions. But if your back up (your wife) is laid up next to you on the couch, moaning and groaning and also praying for some sort of swift death, you might have a problem.
And although TV commercials would have you believe that moms don't get sick- or if they do they're still going to take care of everything- those of us who live in reality will tell you this is not the case. And whereas it is well-known that men are babies when they contract any illness, whether it be the common cold or a cold sore, moms are just plain evil when they are sick. So evil in fact, that they expect you to get up and take care of the kids... even if you're suffering from the exact same thing!
BLATANT PROPAGANDA (JUST SAYING)
"Honey, the baby woke up from her nap." She softly whines as you lie next to each other shivering beneath a blanket on the couch. "It's your turn."
"But, I fed her and put her to bed?" You say.
"I thought it was your turn?"
"I can't get up," she says. "Just do it!"
"But I can't move," you say.
"Even if I had the strength to get up, I think the vomit that seeped between me and the couch has fused me to it like some kind of glue..."
"Get up" she says, gritting her teeth.
"It's YOUR turn."
And so you choose to fight gravity, as opposed to your wife, hoping that the vertigo you are experiencing is just in your head (and won't spread to your stomach) as you slowly try to lift your body off the couch... failing miserably for five minutes. That's when you decide it might just be faster to crawl to your daughter's room on all fours, only to realize that this is only the faster route to emptying your stomach in an unnatural, and uncomfortable way.
But somehow you find the will to go on, as you are cheered on by your loving, and supportive spouse ("Are you kidding me??? GET UP!!! The baby's crying!"). So you gather up all your strength to make it back to your feet. Lifting one lead-filled leg at a time to take one small step after another down the very long hallway.
You make it just a few steps, having to stop to gather your bearings (and hold in your cookies). You shoo away the family dog, now hovering around your like a buzzard waiting for his next meal (well, more like a baby buzzard) as you dry heave before collecting yourself, mustering up the strength to continue on.
The baby cries. "Daddy!!!!!"
"I'm coming Baby," you say.
You wife calls out to you "I need some water."
"I'll get it!" You say.
The dog circles at your feet.
"Get the f--k away from me."
You say, meandering down the perfectly straight hallway.
You say, as you reach the door knob to the nursery, unable to catch your bearings long enough to turn it.
The cries get louder.
Your wife calls from the other room:
"Where's my water?"
The dog, unwavering in his determination returns, waiting for your first wrong move.
The wet, warm spit slowly fills your mouth as you try to reach some kind of equilibrium, but it's just no use. You finally get the door open, just in enough time to reach the closest acceptable receptacle to do whatever it is that you are about to do... and you let nature take its course.
Wiping your mouth, you close the lid to the Diaper Genie, turning to smile at the awestruck toddler, no longer crying as she watches you from her crib.
She says, a look of confusion on her face.
"Hi Baby," you say, as you rush to her aid.
"What can Daddy do for you?"
"Change Diapee." She says.
So you open it up. Nope, no sunshine or lollipops in there. Just diarrhea.
"Just one second, sweetheart...."
You say, opening the lid to the Diaper Genie, one last time.
"Just in case."
And, that's what being an involved dad is all about.
"Where's my water, for #$%^ sake???"
Wouldn't have it any other way.
Disclaimer: This has been a dramatization. No animals, or Diaper Genies were harmed during the making of this story. As well, no husbands were ordered to take care of their children, or get their wives a glass of water... they lost that best two out of three Rock, Paper, Scissors duel fair and square... even if someone seems to wait for you to put your hand out first?
Related Links: (Ironically, no links specifically available for dads)