Message With A Bottle

The kid likes me and the Permanent Roommate. I’m basing that statement purely on the way he reacts when we greet him in the crib in the morning, the way he lights up when one of us comes home and how he crawls into our laps when he is feeling tired. He’ll probably love us for the rest of our lives but that’s totally dependent on how good we are at this parenting gig. I’d grade us at least a B+ thus far.

All his actions and reactions are enough to prove he is a fan.Judging from the clothing options in baby stores, the manufacturers of most of these garments thinks A) parents need constant reminders their young child is fond of them and B) parents need to let the world know that their kid loves them. I’m sure there are some parents in the world that need constant reminding and reinforcement that their young child has fond feelings towards them. This has to be the main thought between shirts like “I Dig Mommy” (complete with a giant backhoe) “Daddy is my hero” and “Mommy and Daddy make me happier than a dump and a nap.” I made that last shirt up but it wouldn’t shock me if it did exist. If it does I’d also like to order one in a men’s medium.

I’m going to be honest and admit that my kid has a couple of these shirts. Browse the website and you’ll see him in a few. I didn’t buy them. They were gifts. The gift givers either thought them adorable or that me and the Permanent Roommate would need daily affirmations that my kid is indeed my “all-star” or whatever makes sense on shirt with baseballs. He wears them because he goes through clothes like a drunk with bladder problem so eventually the options run low on clean clothing. Plus it makes it harder to yell at him while he is wearing these statement shirts. “STOP PULLING THAT DAMN CORD OUT OF THE WALL…Awww (looks at shirt)…I think you’re un-bee-lievable too little guy! Come here so I can make fart noises on your belly.”

Perhaps there are so many shitty parents on the planet that we should celebrate the fact that there are parents doing a solid job at raising good kids. If that’s the case how about the shirts just give a gentle pat on the back instead of a proverbial rubbing of the genitals with a job well done.

Here are some suggestions:

“Dad pays about as much attention to me as I could hope for.”
“I love my mommy for doing the best she can.”
“I adore my big sister the guinea pig”
“I Heart Grandma (no matter what mommy says about her)”
“Grandpa is my pal until I piss him off”

I’ve got some greeting card ideas as well. Waiting on your call Hallmark.

“How much does your kid weigh?”

There it is. Knew it was coming. Why are parents obsessed with boasting about their kid’s dimensions? Is there some type of medal ceremony at the age of two for what kid ends up the portliest? “Little Steve is already 25 pounds. Steve was in 12 month clothes when he was only 3 months. We have to put an addition on the house just for his left testicle. ”

Well, I could tell the truth. The number is less and I’ll, for some reason, feel like an inferior parent. I’ll convince myself we aren’t feeding him enough or he isn’t getting enough sleep or that genetics have finally caught up and I’m fathering the smallest child in this hemisphere (nope, no idea what hemisphere this is, don’t ask.) He’ll stop growing at 4 feet in height, it will ruin his life and he’ll eventually find work as a salsa and dip waiter in a tourist trap restaurant in San Francisco. He’ll walk table to table the entire dinner shift. His sombrero brim overflowing with tortilla chips and salsa in a cup on top. His 15 minutes of fame come years later when he lands his own TLC show because that fart box of a TV channel hands out shows to little people with odd jobs and odd people with little jobs and anyone that will make a viewer stop and ask why a midget is dealing blackjack.

“It’s the story of little people working in a big Las Vegas casino! Little Caesar’s!  Coming this fall to TLC!”

“He is (number that is three pounds heavier than their child). He might be more. He had a leg of lamb for lunch.”

I lie. Except the person knows I’m lying. So it becomes more of a one-up match.

“My kid can stand and he isn’t even a year old.”
“Mine does backflips on command.”

“My kid is already in swimming lessons.”
“My kid has learned to dive into the bathtub from the top of the toilet.”

“My kid was accepted early into an exclusive preschool.”
“Well mine would be there too if the Permanent Roommate and I weren’t dirt poor BUT the kid is so smart he already realizes our financial problems will cripple his future so he started his own 401K. He brunches with Suze Orman to discuss investment strategy. She has eggs benedict and he enjoys chicken pastina in the jar and a side of Cheerios. She calls him girlfriend a lot. What does she weigh? How the hell should I know!”

The kid is one year old. We both made it through the year.

The little guy has been amazing and I’ve kind of figured out part of this fatherhood gig. Apparently this has been the “easy” part and the worst (and best) is yet to come. Looks like I’m going to need to buy stock in Post-Its.

In celebration of the kid’s 1st birthday, I went to my friends on the Message With A Bottle Facebook page, and asked them to pick their favorite messages from the past year. The response was overwhelming and incredibly helpful. It was with their help I was able to narrow it down to the 50 best messages.

Here they are in no particularly order. Here is to the past year and the ones still to come. I hope you all stick around to help me through this.

Best,

Chris

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