Offspring's eternal.Apparently there’s some sort of educational initiative in play here. The local schools have given, as part of the summer assignments, at task in which teenaged students are to “Explore the miracles of childbirth!”
Now, if you ask me, most of them have already explored it by the time they got to High School and really didn’t need too much prodding to take this on as a summer project, at least the first steps of the process. I complained to the school board.
I was told to relax, they were to research their own births as seen through the eyes of their parents, to record their loving mother's and father's thoughts and emotions when they saw their child for the first time; experienced the wonder when holding this beautiful, fragile, miracle…
“Listen!” I told Lout #1. “When I first saw you, you were a waxy-looking, shivering lump and I was reluctant to hold you as I thought the nurse could have done a much better job on the rub down. Bits of your previous domicile were sticking to you; a habit, I might add, to which you cling to this day.” (The state of Lout #1’s bed
“Do go on…” Replied Lout #1 phlegmatically while scribbling notes.
“Well, as soon I held you, you started crying like I had spent your college fund. Well, I had in fact, but at the time you had no way of knowing it.”
“I commented on how misshapen your head was. The Doctor mentioned that this was the result of your passage through the birth canal. Babies’ heads are quite malleable, he said.
“Well, that was the first thing of interest all day! 'Really?' I asked enthusiastically, my hands making kneading motions. 'Like plasticine?' I had visions of the Mayan’s with their forehead molding-boards. Being more artistic, I was thinking along the lines of a soft-serve cone”
Lout #1 stopped writing and raised a single eyebrow. He stole that from me.
“Well, just think!" I said. "You’d never have lost a cap to the wind as it would be well screwed on and you’d have had one hell of a wicked head butt!”
“And yet, my head is a normal shape…”
“True enough.” I glowered. “Your mother had been claiming that she was exhausted; quite spent and unable to finish her appointed task of re-roofing the barn. Turns out she had quite a bit of energy left after all, and it took several pressings of her morphine switch to get her calmed down. By then, she’d made her point. I still have some of the scars. Would you like to see?”
Lout #1 demurred. “Then what?” He asked, returning to his note taking.
“Well, after a day or so, you’d cleaned up remarkably well. I thought that maybe you’d be worth keeping, so we went home. But then…”
“Yeees?” again with the eyebrow. I should have had that patented.
“Well, there was this stench. I was like a cheese ripening in the fetid muck of a Vietnamese river delta. According to your mother, I was to change you.”
“And did you?”
“Well, I bloody well tried, but the Porsche dealer wouldn’t take you as a trade.”
“I think that mom meant my diaper needed to be changed.”
“Well, yes, as it turns out. And I wasn’t to use a pressure washer, sand blaster or ultrasonic bath either. It wouldn’t have been too bad, but just about the time you stopped, Lout# 2 took over.” I took a long draw on my beer. Imparting wisdom is a thirsty business.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, soon you’ll be in adult diapers and it’ll be my turn to change you!” He said while patting my hand.
“Yes, but you’ll be lucky to get a Yugo out of the deal.”
“Actually, I wasn’t setting my goals so high. Something along the lines of a micro-bike or an old, beat-up Schwinn, maybe…”
Impertinent bastard! Where the hell does he get it from?