Operation Embarrasment

I can finally start phase two of my plans to seek revenge. I have been waiting patiently for twelve years to begin “Operation Embarrassment”.  For those of you who do not have kids, let the educating begin.
I remember when life was sweet. I was a poor full-time student with a full-time job and a full-time wife. As destitute as a couple could be, without being homeless, I was as happy as a rodeo clown on goat roping day. All of that joy begat another bundle of joy; and this is where the trouble started. When a woman becomes a mother, not a poor excuse for a mother but a full-time worried filled Kodiak bear of motherhood, her sex drive is put on a shelf for “special days”. I realize it is hard to feel sexy covered in spit-up, baby food, cornstarch and the sweet melodies of “Barney” in the background, but you still look awfully good to us guys who love you in spite of, and because of, the sore nipples, bad back, and baby vomit cologne. After weathering the storm of one’s sexual peak and learning to enjoy the little time you have; when you just get back on the same level playing field, your child begins to walk and talk. If you thought Barney was unromantic, wait until the candles are lit, Luther is singing instructions and your wife smells like the sweetest sugar cookie on the planet and just as you brush you lips against hers… “I WANT SOME WATER!” bellows from the sweet ball of innocence in the other room. Every cough, sneeze, whimper, and sigh is tended to by the woman you love while your begging and whimpering gets you a pat on the shoulder and a sympathetic smile. Night terrors were the bane of my existence. I never could stand to hear a baby cry. Not because I was unsympathetic, but I believe when they cry they need you. I believe they call it “Night Terrors” for the parents more so than the child. Our son would scream, and I mean SCREAM, and we would check his body from head to toe looking for a Cobra bite, bear trap, the fire ant mound in his bed and we would find no source of pain and no way to wake him. Dr. Goff’s advice worked like a charm; give him a glass of water and he will wake up and the world is right. The child drifts back to sleep, your wife turns on Luther, and you lay there listening for a sound with a glass of water in your hand. And when all of that passes, the questions begin. “Why were you making noises last night”? “Why can’t I sleep with you”? You begin to feel as if little ears are rating you performances. What score do you get if you’re not making enough noise? And do you fix the squeaking headboard or will that result in further deductions?  And when you finally have everything under control, you conceive another and the fun begins again. When the new addition cries the oldest laughs, “I guess your not getting any tonight”. And with that comment the first bud of “Operation Embarrassment” forms in your mind. As the father of the groom I will gladly pay for the honeymoon… and I will be there, in the adjoining room, with my water glass, questions and score card.