When you talk to most parents about what it’s like having kids, they’ll tell you that it’s a beautiful and fulfilling experience. That’s not a lie, exactly. It’s like that sometimes, but that description does exclude a lot of the truth.

Let me preface this with the fact that I love my kids and am so glad I have them around, but, short of working in a slaughterhouse or public sanitation, I think folks are utterly unprepared for the amount of bodily fluids they’re going to have to contend with while raising children. Let me paint you a picture of this morning.

I’m having a nice Saturday morning at home with the family. My boy was watching cartoons and I was bouncing the baby and snuzzling her belly to make her giggle. That’s when things when horribly horribly wrong. The moment when I realized she had puked on the top of my head was when I went blind. This was initially a result of it running down my glasses, but soon the burning effect of semi-digested formula on my corneas has shut vision down entirely. I was still holding the baby over my head so I decided it was time to holler for help.

Still blind, I could hear my wife coming from the kitchen. My hope was that she would either relieve me of the baby or at least wipe my face off. Instead, all I heard was footsteps heading in the wrong direction. My brief optimism that she’d gone in search of a towel was dashed as I began to see the camera flashes through my closed eye lids. My further attempts to request assistance were squelched by a combination of her laughter and the fact that the vomit had run into my mouth (Note: if you have a baby’s vomit in your mouth, do not attempt to breathe through your nose. The rest of the day will be spent with everything smelling like baby vomit). Eventually, the baby was taken and I got to spend some alone time in the shower wondering if I could ever really get clean again.

So kids, if you’re out there thinking, “I’m gonna have a baby because it will (a) love me, (b) fix my relationship, and/or (c) give me an awesome tax deduction”, remember that the truth involves a lot more vomit than you’d imagine.

Wiley had texted me for a pick up.  If you know Wiley, you’ll know how sick he’s been lately.  His yet undiagnosed illness is characterized by cycles of uncontrollable vomiting that usually last 3-4 days and end with us taking a trip to the ER when the dehydration really sets in.  It is not cool. (Full details are available on his blog).

Anyway, I was prepped for some hard core puking while I drove since that’s how things go when I drive Wiley lately.  I loaded up Ben and headed out about about 5:30 AM across town to Silver Lake.  I figured I’d take the boy and let Kim sleep in.  That’s where things went horribly wrong.

About 5 minutes on the freeway, Ben pukes.  Everywhere. For a while.  There is no smell quite like semi-digested milk.  Being the good parent I am, I figured we probably had another round or two in our immediate future and continued on to Wiley’s apartment.  By the time we got there, he was covered.

When people talk about having kids, they always tell you how magical and fulfilling it is.  They’re lying to you. Or at least glossing over what it’s really like (I’m not sure if this behavior is some sort of instinctual drive to help perpetuate the species, or if all parents secretly hate/resent the childless).  I find that a lot of parenthood revolves around being wrist deep in things that are awful. And there’s screaming.  It’s good they’re cute or they’d be in serious trouble.

So I pulled up a Wiley’s and had him bring down paper towels.  Here’s where it got tricky.  Wiley is on a vomit bender and has a hair trigger when it comes to smells.  Ben is covered in baby puke which is like the atomic bomb of puke smell.  I had to quickly wipe down and strip the baby while and unsteady Wiley waited away from the car.  Did I mention that parenthood involves being wrist deep in schmutz?

The ride home was surprisingly uneventful.  Thankfully no one decided to grace the car with any more bile.  Now we’re all back at my house trying to keep it together.  Ben is watching Pooh playing with blocks after a bath.  Wiley is sacked out in our bed looking like hell.  I’m drinking copious amounts of coffee.   I’ll be shocked if there isn’t another hospital trip in our future.  Bah.