Trapped Like Jonah in the Belly of the Whale

This whole baby thing is just an excuse for women to play dress up with baby dolls again.

We already have more than 30 outfits for Sydney. I am pretty sure none of them were purchased by a man. My wife just bought a Halloween outfit that declares Sydney the “Prettiest Pumpkin in the Patch.” Halloween is more than two months away. Babies are pretty much home-bound creatures. Sydney likely will not even leave the house that day.…who will see it? That’s $8 – a six pack – down the drain.

I suspect babies grow fast. She might grow out of some of these outfits before she even tries them on. But this is what women do; they play dress up with babies. They mix and match like they are dressing Lady Gaga.  

All a baby really needs is a diaper and a t-shirt. In the winter, they need some long johns and a winter coat. I’d be happy to let her run around naked until she is 3 or 4. It would save me a lot of money.

These baby showers epitomize the idea of treating your baby like a Malibu Barbie. A bunch of women get together and ooh and ahh over these little outfits that would fit snugly on a Chihuahua. It is like they are all six years old again.

I hate baby showers. Those “couples” showers drive me insane. Whenever I am invited to one of those, I curse the man for letting his wife talk him into it. What a puny little girlie man.

We’ve had three showers. One was thrown by my wife’s family, in Minneapolis. I had no choice but to avoid that one. I need all my vacation days for when my daughter comes.

The second was thrown by her teacher friends after school. A small, intimate gathering. Again, easy for me to miss.

The third one ensnared me like Johah in the belly of the whale. I had no choice but to attend.

My team at work planned a surprise shower for me. I am still not sure how they did it without me knowing. I’m a pretty smart guy and take pride in my ability to sniff out nefarious activity. I have probably only truly been surprised twice in my adult life, once at my 30^th birthday party and now at this shower.

My assistant, who absolutely knew I would not go along with a shower and would have quickly snipped that umbilical cord had I known about it, put it on my calendar as a meeting. I fully expected to discuss a customer service issue. Instead, I walked into a room with 20 women yelling “Surprise!,” a cake and loads of presents.

For the next half hour, I awkwardly opened presents while women oohed and ahhed. I felt like a lingerie model at a Paris fashion show. I was on display.

Don’t get me wrong. I am extremely thankful. These are good people who have good hearts. I’m fortunate to work with such quality folks. Plus, I got a lot of free diapers out of it.

But I don’t really like the focus on me. And I don’t know a onesie from a romper. So I was a little embarrassed by the intense spotlight as I tried to figure out if I was holding something she would wear on her top or bottom.

My wife was invited and she loved it. Of course. She received more outfits to play dress up. More importantly, she got to see me squirm like an unsuspecting scumbag on Dateline’s To Catch a Predator .

That’s fine. If she wants to treat Sydney like an American Girl doll, she can be in charge of all clothing choices. I’ll kindly back out and let her handle ALL onesies, rompers, diapers, pajamas, gowns, diapers, dresses, snap shirts, diapers, socks, shoes, diapers, coats, hats and diapers. I promise to never tread on her territory.   

Forget Sesame Street; Give Me Shark Week

Sydney is going to be the most safety-conscious girl in the free world. I would say the “entire” world but those communist countries are so secretive and I have no doubt they indoctrinate their children with a “the-world-is-out-to-get-me” attitude.

I have become addicted to the ID Channel. This is a channel that runs true crime 24-7. It is like NBC’s Dateline or CBS’ 48 Hours on steroids. There are tales of wicked wives, heinous husbands, diabolical daughters and sinister sons. Rich people are killing each other behind mansion walls, cons are talking about how “they almost got away with it,” wives are wondering who the hell they married and very nice respectable people are going missing just about every day.

Watch this channel for one day and you will be convinced every other person you pass on the street is O.J. Simpson or Casey Anthony.

As soon as Sydney is old enough to understand, she and I are going to set up camp in front of the television – I know, a REAL CHALLENGE for me -- and learn about all the evil people in the world. Elmo and Grover can wait. This is important stuff.

No one will ever spike my girl’s drink, lure her into a car, slowly poison her with arsenic while convincing her it is the flu, or, god forbid, force her to a “second” location. Ladies, always take your chances at the abduction point!

Most of the people in these shows are killed by someone they trusted. And in the craziest ways. One son got bad grades and quit going to college. Rather than tell his family, he let them believe he was doing well and they even went to dinner to celebrate his graduation. Dessert was waiting at home. He had hired someone to lie in wait and kill his family while they walked in the door.

Another wife slowly poisoned her husband over many months, convincing him he had the flu. I think I saw a light bulb go off over Brooke’s head while we were watching that. If I start to get stomach pain any time soon, you can bet I’ll order a blood test pronto.

One lady’s married boyfriend – whom she’d leant $90,000 -- convinced her they were going on a getaway to remote Canada and she should not bring her phone (because it wouldn’t work) or pack any clothes because he would buy her all new ones when they go there. Furthermore, he told her not to tell anyone where they were going and she was to hide from sight in the back of his truck until they got out on the road. Of course, she was never seen again.

Psychopaths. Everywhere.

My motto has always been “Never trust anyone but your mother.” Sydney’s will be “Never trust anyone but your father.” I’m sure Brooke will be an awesome mother, but the smaller the circle of trust, the less chance for betrayal.

Little Carrie Jones from down the block wants you to come play? Well let’s punch little Carrie’s name  -- along with the names of her mom, dad and siblings -- into both Google and the County Clerk of Courts site to see if anything sinister comes up. You can never be too careful.

We won’t stop at the ID channel. Cheaters will be a regular on our DVR. I want my little girl to see every possible way her partner can cheat on her. He says he has to work late? Drop in at the office with a late-night snack. Always on the phone? Grab his phone when he is away and call every single person in his “recent calls” list to check their voice. He’s probably not above putting his latest girlfriend under the name “Frank.”

And don’t forget e-mail surveillance.

I may be the only person on earth who DVRs Cheaters, but I consider it a way of staying “real.” It keeps me in touch with my suspicious side. Nobody’s pulling anything over on me.

My wife hates this. Hmmm, I wonder why?

She also hates that I insist on locking the door as soon as I walk in, or locking the car door even if I am going to be gone for just 16 seconds. She really hates that I want the shades drawn at all times. Listen, I used to be reporter on the police beat. I can’t tell you how many times I read a police report that someone’s stereo or television or Sham Wow was “in plain sight, so the perpetrator broke in through the window and absconded with it.”

Sydney is going to get a good dose of real life in her formative years and she will be totally prepared for the evil that comes her way. She’ll never leave her drink unattended, always keep the shades drawn and run background checks on all her dates.  She’ll be the person everyone turns to for advice during a mass shooting or hostage situation.

But will it be enough? Can I cover all the bases? As I write this, a commercial for Shark Week just came on the TV. I think we’ll have to add that to our DVR list. She needs to know the bloody, gory consequence of swimming in the ocean too close to dawn or dusk.