Man in his Pyjamas A collection of comedy writing, poetry and Asperger Syndrome.

Having children

kids bed

Generally I write about things that have happened. A historical recount I suppose; a retelling of the pitfalls of the life that I have encountered, since the last pitfalls of the life that I have encountered. This week however I have decided to theorise more. To pontificate. Incidentally, I have had a relatively successful week. DAMN IT ALL TO HELL.

I have not made a fool of myself (to the best of my knowledge). I have not behaved or reacted inappropriately. My children have fallen in line, my wife has been delightful and nobody has tried to defecate on me. ANNOYING.

It is a strange place to be indeed; a life where one covets complication and personal humiliation in a bid to write from a specific place, or point in time. A place where, if life goes to plan, or God forbid well, one is left with a distinct feeling of ‘now what?’. I may need to rethink my life goals.

Thus, this week, I open the door to conjecture…here goes.

Having children x 3

What, in the name of all that is holy, is it going to be like having three children? I am genuinely worried. My tension is mounting. My hair is greying by the kick. There are tell-tale signs all around me…..

The house is slowly filling up with lots of the things that we gave away a year or so ago.  I remember it vividly; taking boxes, and bags and cribs and car seats, and glee-fully handing them out, free of charge, to anyone that would have them. So pleased was I to be reclaiming the house. The chaos stage was over. Now my wife is buying them all back, at top dollar, over the internet. Parcels and boxes and blankies are arriving everyday. I need to change my pin number.

It seems just yesterday that I dismantled the stair gates and cast them asunder; that I disengaged the cupboard locks for the last time and marvelled at being able to fetch a tin of beans once more, without having to spend three quarters of an hour trying to unlock the child locks.

Having children – I’ve forgotten

I’m not sure I can remember how to change a nappy now ?  It took me three years to work out which way round the bloody picture was supposed to go? Does Mickey go up front or bring up the rear? SURELY Minnie doesn’t go down the business end? That ain’t right. That just ain’t right. She won’t be smiling coyly in a minute!

I bet Walt Disney would be spinning in his freezer compartment were he to know his most famous of creations were being used to help hapless dad’s wrap up their flatulent, pee-soaked babies. Just imagine being cryogenically frozen for all those years, and then being de-thawed to find out your coveted Mickey is all covered in sh*tty. Unacceptable. World’s going to hell.

Having children – bad for the knees

I don’t think my knees can take any more damn baby bouncing. Both my children would only fall asleep in my arms, if they were rocked a certain way. A way that required I bend and straighten my knees in quick succession for about a ******** hour.  I tried just bouncing them up and down with my puny, puny arms, but the loss of altitude was insufficient. They needed the body drop as well.  The little feckin’ thrill seekers.

With every scrape of bone-on-bone, their screams subsided, seemingly comforted by my total lack of knee cartilage. As I winced, sweated, and silently swore through the pain, they happily cooed themselves off to the land of nod – only to rouse if I withdrew the knee bounce, and tried to fob them off with an arm bop.

Jesus my knees are killing me and my lady biceps are burning hotter than the sun!  It’s all coming back to me….

Having children – at night

‘The restless nights I have spent not-sleeping on that rickety, slanting, single bed that I erected for my son. The one I told my wife ‘it’d be reet’.

He’s only two foot tall, it doesn’t matter if the end drops down a bit. We’ll replace it when he’s bigger.

I’d start the night off in my bed sure, but then a succession of tiny people, with feet the temperature of dead mariners would climb aboard. I’d feel them hoisting themselves up onto the mattress. I’d open one eye and see a blurry midget with preposterous hair looming towards me by moonlight.  In the early days it would take me a second to calculate that my life was not about to end, so terrifying was the sight when half asleep.

Later on, as I accustomed, I would contemplate pushing them off with my foot, or pretending to be dead. In the end I learned how to replace any swear word with FINE and quietly disembark to the kids room. Dragging my orthopaedic pillow behind me.

Having children – keeping calm

I tried not to get angry, honest I did. At times I laid there for what felt like a life time, while the three other people in my bed slept like they’d dined on Nytoll.  Freaks.  I would try getting myself back to sleep by counting swear words. Facilitating profanity being hoicked over a hedge in one’s mind eye is less than settling I can tell you. And yet THEY would all fall back to sleep in the blink of an eye. It seemed as though the only thing that they needed to get back to sleep, was to warm up their ice feet on my stomach, or to joust me in the Adam’s apple with their boney arses.

My wife would happily snore away, sleeping on the very edge of the mattress, with no duvet. She could have one kid using her face as a pillow and the other using her breasts as a feeding bag AND STILL sleep. I’m too skittish. I need help…..

On one particular night, I decamped, downed a triple whiskey in fury, ate a banana and went back to bed. SO desperate was I to stick around and see it out. To do my bit. I wanted the same commitment that my wife had. To be part of the family.

I woke up the following morning, late for work and soaking wet.  It seems my son had pissed all over my pyjamas, to say thanks for  having me. Little shit box. From then on I just left at the whiff of a child and headed elsewhere. One night I ended up in the bath (hence the MIHP photo).

Having children – haunted by the sounds

Just the other night, as I lay in bed, I swear I could hear the clickety-clack-clickety-clack of my wife’s breast pump machine. She expressed milk by the gallon when baby number one wouldn’t latch on. Loads of the stuff. At one point we even considered going into a niche business, providing milk for either premature babies, or perverts. Pints and pints and pints. She’d have given a dairy cow a run for their money at one point.

The expressing machine was a noisy beast; furiously sucking like some randy teenager over-excited at the sight of his first boob.  That noise haunted my dreams. The sound is unmistakable. I can remember it from when I was a teenager :)

Having children – in public

Unsuspecting men and women, strangers and friends alike have heard that sound.  I have seen folk confused in houses, restaurants, pubs, markets, cinemas – you name it – sitting quizzically, with puzzled frowns, trying to locate the origin of that…. mechanical….clanky…..slurping sound?  What IS that?…….It sounds like……like……. Metal Mickey sucking treasury tags through a straw?


And then their perplexed eyes would fall upon a beautiful, but suspicious looking woman, sat in the corner. She’s sat next to the plug socket. But she’s not charging her phone? What IS she doing? She’s got tubes and wires and bottles all stuck up her jumper. What IS she doing?  Is this indoor street theatre? Is this one of those Happenings just about to happen?

She’s carrying on as if nothing is happening the….. Happily chatting away and drinking her latte without a care in the world. But watch. Every so often, with the aplomb of a close-up magician, she ALAKAZAMS a full-to-the-brim bottle of  milk from up her cardy and then quickly stems the tide of spurting and spraying with ANOTHER empty bottle. She’s like a one woman dairy farm.

I think I just saw a leaking nipple?

Look at the guy she’s with though. Oh he’s not happy. Look at him. He looks like he wants to crawl up his own arse and disappear.  Oh my God, look at his face when she makes him take the full bottle and screw the lid on. He looks like he wants to punch her. Oh my God, look at him retching and wiping his hands on his jeans like he’s bottling a tramp’s sperm. Poor fella.  Bet he didn’t sign up for this. Come on let’s go.  I can’t watch this any more, it’s just sad……..

Having children – as easy as 1,2 3

And so, just a few months ago, my wife came charging into the room waving a stick with a blue line on it. Absolutely delighted was she. Waving it around under my nose and showering me in little droplets of urine. Number three she exclaimed. WE DID IT AGAIN!

I have to confess at being delighted that I can make her SO happy. It seems the one thing I can do well, is provide top dollar swimmers on command.

My three children have been conceived in four attempts. Number one – BULLSEYE. Number two – swing and a miss – HOME RUN. Number three – eyes closed, please God make me infertile I don’t want another  – WE HAVE A WINNER.

 I really need to get a vasectomy.

© 2014 Man in his pyjamas. All rights reserved.

5 Thoughts on “Having children

  1. I can’t believe anyone does it twice, unless by accident (cough). Look on the bright side MIHP, it’s all good for new material, and whilst it’ll be killing you, you’ll be making us all laugh. It’s a public service really, you could get knighted x

  2. Sarah Miles on September 15, 2014 at 17:33 said:

    You Sir, are a god. I only have one child. The thought of having another makes me want to rip out my own ovaries. I just couldn’t. No way, no how. The thought of more makes me want to fling myself off the local viaduct. It’s that bad that I have a contraceptive implant and my boyfriend has had a vasectomy. Although I then lie awake frightending myself with the mathematical equation that two negatives equal a positive

  3. I have 3 children. advice RUN !!

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