One of my dearest friends, R, just had a baby. His fourth. A perfect little girl that looks just like him and is the reason why the saying “sugar and spice, and everything nice” was invented. My first reaction to hearing the news that he and his wife were expecting again was “Dude, you’re fucked. Who has FOUR kids?” Followed immediately by a squeal and an “OMG, I can’t wait for her to get here! I get dibs on first smushies and cuddles!” (Yes, I actually talk like this. And since I am not a thirteen year old at a One Direction concert, it is not becoming. Not even a little bit.)
About a month after her arrival, R and I were talking about what it was like having a baby in the house again and he confessed that while it was amazing, he was totally getting jipped when it came to getting attention from his wife. It was not an easy thing for him to admit. He felt guilty about feeling this way, and while he knew it was just a normal part of the new baby process pined for a bit of TLC. R has a big job. (He better. FOUR kids yo.) He works hard and puts in long hours but still does his part at home. He loves his family beyond reason, and is one of the best men I know. So I listened, and then I told him to stop whining like a little bitch and man up. Just kidding. Here’s how our actual conversation went:
Me: Dude, I feel you. Stupid babies. They ruin everything.
Me: You know, they should have a version of a “baby nurse” for dads.
R: You mean like a temporary sister wife or something?
R: When people ask how you and I made our billions I will tell them that it all started with this conversation.
Me: I KNOW, right? She would come home with you from the hospital, and live with you for six months. But instead of taking care of the baby, she would be totally focused on you.
R: So far, this is working for me.
Me: She would make you a healthy breakfast every morning, bring your shirts to the dry cleaners, make sure you never run out of your favorite snacks…
R: Yeah, that’s important. You know how I like my snacks.
Me: Um yeah, (looking pointedly at his belly) I know.
R: Blow me.
Me: Aaaanyway, she would make sure all of the extended family obligations were taken care of. Organize family holidays. Send your mom her birthday card. You know, that kind of stuff.
R: That’s all fine, but a personal assistant can do all of that. I think you’re missing the billion dollar picture here. I want someone who is going to ask me how my day was, and then pretend listen to me without being distracted by a human being stuck to her boob. And someone who will pretend laugh at my jokes and wry observations. And pretend get angry and protective on my behalf when I tell them about some douche at work. And, and…
Me: Don’t you think your wife would get upset though?
R: Dude, please. She would pay for it.
Me: Got it. Full range of pretend caring and empathetic emotions. Check.
R: I’m not finished. I want shoulder rubs when I’ve had a really long day.
Me: Hm….I don’t know about that.
R: OH C’MON!
Me: Fine. As long as it’s on top of the shirt. No skin.
R: Cool. And snuggles. I want snuggles.
Me: Nope. Too far. What kind of multi-billion dollar company do you think I’m running here?
R: Purely platonic, fully clothed snuggling?
Me: I said no.
R: So I’m guessing hand jobs are out of the question.
Me: Only if they are purely platonic hand jobs.
R: Okay, I’m in. What do we call it, what’s the website?
Me: Hmmmm….how about http://www.nosexsecondwife.com
R: No, too Mormony. How about http://www.everythingbuttthat.com.
Me: I like it. And it has the word “butt” in it. (giggle)
R: Hah! I didn’t think of that. It also has “butt hat”. Hahahahahahaha! BUTT HAT!
Me: You’re twelve.
PS: Unfortunately, http://www.everythingbuttthat.com is already taken. Any ideas for what we can call this brilliant venture?
Categories: Rants and Raves