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My two young boys are finally in bed, my wife is wrapped up in a book, and I’m beginning to unwind from a typically chaotic day with some mind-numbing moving pictures on the idiot box and an adult beverage.

I’m taking my first sips of a dry gin martini, what I like to call “liquid psychotherapy,” after an evening of anarchic baths, riotous bawling, and diapers so dirty I actually sympathize for the trashcan.

It’s about this time when I’m struck by the animated wisdom of Homer J. Simpson on the tube:  “Kids, kids,” he says, “as far as daddy’s concerned, you’re both potential murderers.”

After a knee-jerk guffaw, I realize Homer’s on to something.  I believe I’m a victim of over-romanticizing the notion of parenting.  I envisioned the innocent cooing, the infectious giggles, the wholesome tranquility of a sleeping baby.

What I have is a world where I’m constantly outfoxed by a toddler, manipulated by an infant, I have an entirely new lexicon of terms associated with bodily fluids, and I’ve got books titled “Walter the Farting Dog” and others of similar ilk.

I’m worried about paying for college education and we’re making sure our kids know that everyone passes gas.  I’ve smelled these kids, believe me, they know.

So in the spirit of sharing, I’d like to demonstrate some of the new words and phrases commonly heard in my home, complete with definitions.  Parents, feel free to use or modify any of these as may apply.  All others, feel free to use these to convince someone you love to get a vasectomy.

  • Snot lunch.  As in the baby has been lapping up his post-nasal-drip.  Example:  “Has the baby eaten lately?” “No, nothing besides a snot lunch.”
  • Pea sprayed.  As in he’s eating pureed peas and he sneezed it all over you.
  • Pee sprayed.  Self explanatory
  • Booker suck.  The little mini turkey-baster-looking-thing that you use to suck snot out of their nose, inevitably leading to a tantrum.
  • Blowout.  As in a poop of a particular consistency and volume in which it frequently reaches the middle of your baby’s back.
  • Mega blowout.  See above, but instead of the middle of baby’s back, insert “base of neck” and “down to the knees.”
  • The poop chair.  As in the calming vibrating seat you put your baby in so you can take a shower, which consistently produces a blowout (see above).
  • Freshly pooped on.  As in the status of soiled clothing and the likelihood of the stain coming out.  Example: “I’m going to get this in the wash while it’s still freshly pooped on.”
  • Poop spray.  As in the act of using the stuff that gets the stains out.  Example: “I’m going to go poop spray while this is still freshly pooped on (see above).”
  • Motorboat.  Borrowed from the movie, ‘Wedding Crashers’ – as in the facial action baby makes between my wife’s breasts, notably mocking me with his usurpation of the general area.
  • Chin sludge.  As in the stuff you never knew was there until your chubby baby throws his head back and you realize there’s a layer of cheese beneath the folds on his neck.
  • Doo-doo.  Oddly, not what you would think.  This is the unfortunate nickname the kids have given my friend Dieter.

Lastly, “did someone spill their drink on me or is that vomit running down my back?”  No, not a word nor even phrase, but uttered in my house on more than one occasion nonetheless.

Of course, despite all of their shenanigans, I look at my little monster DNA recreations with as much delight and gratification as any loving parent and I know that even if they were fire breathing zombies, I’d sacrifice anything for their well being.

And while I identify with Homer, are they both potential murderers?  Eh, probably not. Providers of safe haven for potential pandemic-level bacteria concentrations?  Absolutely.

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