Thinking of having a baby ?

A normal Tuesday in the Niessen household:

Daddy Pat suddenly wakes up on the couch at 2am Tuesday morning. As he
stands up and makes his way to the bedroom to enjoy the last couple of
hours of sleep in his actual bed, he feels a grumbling..rumbling of
discontent in his stomach. Thinking nothing of it, he takes a few more
steps and realizes that things in his digestive tract are amiss. He
runs...in the darkness, without the aid of his glasses to the
bathroom. There in the dark he spews forth the contents of his
stomach...only some of which make it into the toilet. He rinses his
mouth, washes his beard and foolishly turns on the light. Mistake. In
the darkness he managed to hit 3 of the four wall of the bathroom with
splatter...not to mention his own jeans. Disgusting. He spends the
next 30 minutes cleaning up his own expunged bile and manages to go
back to bed and eventually fall asleep, still slightly reeking of
puke.

He awakens a few hours later, still feeling bad but no longer
nauseous. The acidic taste in his mouth and raw throat tell him that
he's staying home this day. The morning proceeds fairly uneventfully,
other than the first sip of coffee nearly throwing him into a round of
dry heaves, so coffee is out. He plays with his daughter for a few
hours and eventually rouses his wife from her slumber. Food. He needs
food. Cooking is out. He feels like crap and wants to be waited on. A
destination is decided and they prepare to leave the house. The baby
is gathered, the diaper bag is prepared. Last thing to do is shut the
sliding glass door. Suddenly his wife screams: "KOBI, NO! GET OUTSIDE!
NOT IN THE HOUSE!" He looks down...his dog is coughing. Heaving.
"KOBI!" he yells, "GO OUTSIDE!" But he doesn't...the dog moves further
into the house, still heaving. "KOBI! GET -" and it comes. A mound of
chewed grass and yellow canine bile. Right there on the kitchen floor.
His wife covers her mouth and mutters "oh dear god..."

"Take the baby," he says. "I'll clean it up. It's just grass." It is
just grass....grass covered in yellow, warm pungent mucus. It's not
even 11:00a.

Lunch goes by without incident. The sour stomach does not return, and
everyone keeps the food in their stomach. The afternoon is spent on an
obligatory trip to Target where he escapes buying only new windshield
wipers and a new ball for his daughter to play with. They return home
and spend the day relaxing and playing with their baby. As the
afternoon wears on, their daughter begins to get restless. It's time
for a nap. Her mother decides that she needs a bottle before she goes
down.

"But honey," Daddy Pat says "she's been eating all day. I think she's
fine."

"No," Mommy says "she usually has a bottle before her afternoon nap.
I'm trying to keep her on her schedule." Bottle it is. Mommy knows
best.

They sit. Daddy Pat and baby, lounging in the kitchen as she drinks
her new 8 oz. bottle, double the size of the bottles she had just a
few days before. And she drinks, pausing occasionally to giggle at the
dog, but always returning to her bottle. When she finishes, she drops
the bottle on the floor and starts babbling.

"OK baby...it's time for your nap." Still sitting he places her on his
shoulder and begins to rise. She burps, and suddenly his arm is wet
and warm. And his shoulder...and it continues down his back, settling
in his asscrack. "Honey!" he says. "A little help. She spit up on me."
He holds her away from his body. She's giggling. "Ha. Very funny," he
thinks. She opens her mouth....and out shoots a geyser of formula, the
arc extending at least 2 feet from her body - a scene straight out of
Stand By Me. It barely misses Daddy Pat, but covers the chair and the
kitchen floor in regurgitated baby formula, the puddle nearing 4 feet
in diameter. "Honey," he says, "I think she was full."