This is it, my final column for the Opelika-Auburn News, and it’s past time I admit every word I wrote was built on a lie — a lie about pee.
I doubt you remember my first column four years ago, but in it I wrote about getting peed on. When we told people we were having a baby boy, they told us, sometimes before congratulating us, that he would pee on us. In that first column, I insisted this would never happen to me, but ended it by saying that he had, in fact, already peed on me. Here’s the thing though, that was a cheap joke. He hadn’t peed on me. It was a lie. A small one, but a lie. I didn’t feel bad about it though because I assumed the pee was coming. That it was unavoidable. But here I am, four years and a second son later and neither of them have ever, ever, peed on me. Not a single drop. Who knows how this happened. Maybe I’ve been lucky, or maybe I’m the fastest diaper changer in the world, or maybe I’m the greatest father in human history — but the babies never peed on me, and I wanted you to know.
But before you lose faith in me, everything else I told you was true. I did throw our Pack-n-Play off the front porch after spending the better part of a week trying to fold it up. And I did, during a run of particularly gross diapers, start cutting Linus out of his onesies and throwing away the soiled garments. This practice ended when Tricia realized we’d gone from two dozen to zero white onesies and finally figured me out. And I did lock both boys in our house one afternoon and had to shatter a glass door to “rescue” them.
Something crazy happened on an almost weekly basis, and I’m thankful I could share our stories with you, because if I hadn’t written it all down I’m not sure I would remember any of it. People give you all sorts of advice when you have a baby, most of it about as useful as telling someone to stop, drop and roll during a tornado, but if someone tells you the days are long and the years are short, believe them.
Oliver turns 2 this week, and Linus turns 4 next month, and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out how that is possible. This time next year we’ll be enrolling Linus in kindergarten, and Baby O will likely be wrestling at WrestleMania XXXIV (Yes, he’s still body-slamming his brother on a nightly basis, and yes we still call him Baby O). I know there were sleepless nights when they were infants, and I know our road trips used to make life on the Oregon Trail look like a quick trip across town, and I know there were bottles and formula and dozens of diaper changes each day, but I don’t remember any of it. And neither does Tricia, which is why sometimes, in a fit of insanity, she asks me, “Would you want another one?”
“No,” I tell her, “the next one might have better aim.”
Chad Gibbs resides in Auburn and is the author of “God & Football,” “Love Thy Rival” and “Jesus Without Borders.” To learn more about Gibbs’ projects and to purchase his books, visit www.chadgibbs.com.