In my haste I didn’t realize that I hadn’t quite got the diaper pinned correctly. By the time I’d rushed to the car, the front of the diaper had fallen off and my daughter looked more like she was clothed in a half loin cloth, open to the front instead of a wearing a diaper. When she decided to pee on the way out the diaper didn’t do much good. The best I could do was hold her facing away from me and direct the stream as best I could.

Passerbys were treated to the sight of a wild looking, half-dressed, harried man holding a near naked infant at arms length while the infant peed all over the front yard. I tried waving for help but for some reason that seemed to spur people to flight rather than help.

Well, by dint of perseverance and force of will we made it to the car. Belting my daughter in we set off stopping every few blocks so that I could open the door, lean out and throw up. By now my eyes were watering and I could barely see but we made it into the doctors office where I pleaded for some help.

The nurse was exceptionally kind despite her pitying looks at this unkempt, unshaven and obviously incompetent man standing before her wildly waving a baby girl while pleading for help. Rescuing my daughter with an attitude that bespoke the the epitaph “MEN! as clearly as if she’d uttered it aloud she quickly ushered me into the doctor’s office.

The doctor came in, sprayed some numbing medicine down my throat then looked for the problem. He couldn’t find anything wrong but since I had came in with obvious distress he decided to send me to an ear, nose and throat specialist. With my throat now numb I no longer felt like throwing up but was worried the feeling wouldn’t last. I was convinced that something, I didn’t know what, was caught in my throat so I hurried off to the specialist.

On the way out I picked up my daughter whom the nurse had kindly rediapered and reclothed for me. Initially the nurse was reluctant to hand my daughter over to someone she considered completely irresponsible. She made that clear by providing me with a detailed list of written instructions for caring for my child and the admonition to contact my wife immediately! Apparently,I was untrustworthy as well. Such is the power of stereotypes. 

The two of us made it to the ear, nose, and throat specialist a few blocks away without further incident. The specialist had been warned of my coming and his nurse who was obviously friends with my doctors nurse rushed out to take my daughter and ushered me into the office where she had me sit in a large chair that looked very much like a large barber’s chair. Feigning unconcern the doctor then came in to examine me.

The scene unfolded before me almost like a bad burlesque sketch. Dressed in a typical white doctor’s coat with the usual paraphernalia attached he also had a large round mirror with a hole in the center clamped to his head. Speaking casually and reassuringly he had me open my mouth and sprayed some more numbing fluid down my throat. Moving the mirror over one eye so he could look through the hole he shined a light down my throat and took a look.

Suddenly the specialist blurted out, “I don’t believe it!” and was galvanized into action all the while muttering over and over, “I don’t believe it.” This was disconcerting and I wanted yell, ‘What don’t you believe?’ but the clamps holding my mouth open prevented me. Calling in his nurse who was watching over my daughter he handed her the mirror headgear and told her,”Take a look, you want believe this.”

The nurse was made of sterner stuff than a mere man but she obediently dawned the headgear and took a look. Suddenly she too was galvanized into action muttering, “I don’t believe it.” By now I was starting to get a little nervous. Perhaps there was something seriously wrong.

Somehow the specialist acquired a long pair of forceps that looked very much like tongs. Bending over me he shoved them down my throat. Despite the numbing I very much doubted that I could restrain myself from throwing up much longer. Then slowly he pulled the tongs out and I could feel something tearing past my throat.

With some measure of satisfaction the specialist proudly displayed his prize. There clamped neatly in the forceps like a deadly serrated fishing spear head lay one whole complete bay leaf! My reaction was immediate.

“I don’t believe it!”

I told you it wasn’t entirely my fault. After all, I didn’t make the stew.

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Tags: family, Humor

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