Sometimes I hear parents get confused about when they’re supposed to take their baby to the doctor. You know, how to tell the difference between an infection and a virus, or the severity of either. And I think this is weird. I mean it’s so simple.

But that’s probably because I have 4 kids. My experience is vast, my knowledge virtually endless. My oldest kid is 13 years old, so just imagine how many flus, colds, ear infections, tooth problems, respiratory infections and other ailments I have skillfully faced.

Since this has been a particularly sickly year for everybody, I thought I would share how to know when you’re supposed to take a baby to a doctor.

You can thank me later.

First, if the baby is a newborn, you take them at the first sign of anything at all whatsoever: Sniffles, cough, low fever, because it’s probably Ebola, polio, or whooping cough. If it’s your 2^nd 3^rd or 4^th newborn, you do not take them immediately but rather wait 12 hours and then take them in. Because you’re more laid back now.

Do not argue with me. Just do it. There is no other way.

Once they’re past the newborn stage, it gets a little trickier. Luckily I’m here to help:

If they have a fever for more than 4 days you should take them in, but only if it’s not a low-grade fever, because a low-grade fever can be caused by teething.

Or walking pneumonia.

So it’s either teething or walking pneumonia.

There’s probably no way to know which is which, except for the cough. Do they cough when they lie down? Then it’s probably pneumonia, except that also happens when they have shit in their chests.

Get a stethoscope and listen to their chests. Do you hear scratching sounds? Yeah I’ve never actually heard anything either. Let’s move on to snot. Snot assessment is super reliable.

Is it snot green? Then it’s an infection. Actually that’s just an old wives’ tale.How long have they had snot? Six months? Oh right. They’re babies. That’s probably nothing. Don’t worry too much about snot.

Basically we’re here again.

But cough? You should worry about cough. Persistent cough is BAD. Except sometimes the cough from the cold 3 weeks ago is still happening, which is pretty fucking persistent, but in that case not a big deal.

Are we clear so far? Good. Let’s move on to raspy sounds.

If they have raspy sounds when they breathe you definitely need to take them in because that’s a respiratory infection, except also snot in the throat sounds pretty much exactly the same, so maybe it’s that.

It’s either something in the chest that needs antibiotics or it’s a virus.

You don’t get to know this though, ever.

Figure it out though because you don’t want to be one of those douche moms who takes their kid in for nothing plus you’ll be bringing them to a goddamn cesspool of kid germs UNNECESSARILY and sometimes even little infections will heal on their own through the power of breast-milk and good vibes so DO NOT OVERUSE ANTIBIOTICS ASSHOLE.

Super bugs and shit.

Are you taking notes? You probably should be. This wisdom was years in the making, pal.

Lethargy, however, that’s clear. If they’re lethargic, DO NOT DELAY. Except fever can kind of make them lethargic. You know, like your baby who never stops crawling starts lying his head on your chest and you’re like “THIS IS DEFINITELY LETHARGIC” so you go straight into the emergency room because the fever’s been there for 5 days TOO LONG FOR SURE but then you’ll get there and the nurse will give him Ibuprofen and 12 minutes later he’ll be flirting with the homeless man to his left and the strange thought will pass through your mind: “OMG would you please act sick like you have been FOR THE PAST FUCKING 3 DAYS?”

Then you’ll realize that’s a terrible and slightly insane thing to think and you’ll be grateful again, always, of course, that your baby isn’t really, actually sick.

But since you’re there you’ll see the doctor anyway and she will look at you like “No really, stop being such a fucking moron.” And you’re like “no really he’s sick” but your words are unconvincing since the “sick” baby in question is now grinning and waving frantically while playing peek-a-boo with a tongue depressor.

So basically, what I’ve learned after 13 years of parenting, endless colds and flus and viruses and strep and ear infections is this: I will always take my kids in too soon and 98% of those times my baby will suddenly, miraculously, for no apparent reason, become healed as we cross the threshold of the doctor’s office, successfully making me look like an ass ONE MORE FUCKING TIME and I will say to myself “Next time I’m not doing that.”

And the next time, I will move through the various aforementioned stages of virus vs. infection assessment and hold out and hold strong until exactly one day before they were going to get better. And then I will take them in because I AM ABSOLUTELY SURE THEY NEED ANTIBIOTICS OR SOMETHING but they don’t.

And I’ll feel dumb and like I’m wasting the doctor’s time. But I’ll walk out thinking “Well at least we know.” And I’ll swear I won’t do it again because I learned this time but I will, always.

I tell myself it’s better to look like an ass than be wrong.

I should know, I’ve been practicing both for approximately 13 years and 5 months.

Obviously, I’m an expert.

You’re welcome.

(in other words):

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Only 3 spots left in my May writing workshop.

Join us. Now. JUST FUCKING DO IT ALREADY.

The other day Mac and I did this thing where we flirt and tease all day, temporarily deluding ourselves into thinking we’re hot and have an active sex life.

Dad, please stop reading this post.

Anyhoo, you know, we taunt and whisper things and grab inappropriately. Et cetera.

As you can imagine, this is rather fun, and by the end of the day, both of us are ready for, um, the end of the day.

So a couple days ago we were doing the aforementioned let’s-pretend-we-just-met thing all day long. That evening I went out with a friend and didn’t get home until 11:30pm. The whole drive home I was imagining how I would wake him, a-hem – and what would probably follow. I went in the house ready to assault him.

But when I walked in the door I was assaulted. By the condition of my house. The front room looked like Toys R Us spun around in circles vomiting on the floor. The living room and kitchen were barely recognizable. The real clincher, however, was the animals. They were all pacing around like the walking dead, moaning and mewing and looking at me like “Please. Do something.”

I checked the cat’s bowls. Empty. I checked the dog’s. Empty. I checked the fucking rodents’. EMPTY.

Suddenly, I was not in the mood. What the fuck, husband. It’s 11:30pm and I want to ravage you but instead I have to walk around and feed the furry beasts. Even though you were here all night, and they were supposed to be fed HOURS ago…and I’ve been asking you for like 6 months to please help feed the animals on a regular basis…you still couldn’t do it and now, once again, at the end of my day, I have to do what was YOUR JOB.

Not hot, husband.

Not hot at all.

And as I finished feeding the last small mammal and felt the last spark of sex drive fizzle out through my toes, and my desire to do my husband turned into a desire to do in my husband, I realized how drastically my idea of “hot” has changed since I was like, oh I don’t know, 20.

Of course it’s a little hard to tell what I considered “hot” when I was 20, since my man of choice was whoever showed up after I’d had enough beers to make men start appearing hot (which may explain how pretty much NONE of them fit the “hot” bill the next morning….but I digress).

Despite this difficulty, I’m 99% sure “Hey baby, I fed the guinea pigs” would not have struck my former self as a turn-on.

But now? Oh yeah. Bring it.

What? You picked your stinky ass socks off the bathroom floor and put them in the actual laundry basket?

Come here baby. I got something for ya.

What’s that you say? You cleaned out the car and changed the sheets?

Take me I’m yours.

To illustrate, I made you a few graphics, which embody my current idea of the hottest shit in the world.

Yes, I realize this makes me pathetic and old and uninteresting.

Also, tired. Very tired. And with a thrashed house. So tired am I, in fact, and so thrashed is this house, that the thought of a man doing the chores they somehow can’t manage to figure out how to do on their own EVER. (I’m serious. What is wrong with them?!)..is like a giant hit off the love pipe. Like roses and dirty talk and sweat and red wine. Like oceans and whispers and bare muscular chests.

Like yes, please.

[by the way, if I’m the only one of you who finds men-doing-chores sexy, I will in fact off myself.]

Why yes.

Yes I do.

The other day, while scowling at the absurdity of one of those feel-good chocolate hearts and roses Valentine’s ads, I placed my pointer finger against my face in the classic thinking posture and asked myself… “Hmmmm…what would an honest Valentine’s Day card say?”

And then, as this thought rolled around in my [acutely insane] brain, I realized that this is no simple question, but rather depends entirely on how long the couple has been together.

Because as you probably know…that shit CHANGES. (Relationships, that is. Men, not so much.)

So this small, profound monologue got me thinking about the fact that there are (in my opinion) three stages in a relationship/marriage, each of them obviously necessitating a different Valentine, were it to be honest and real and able to speak the truth of the insanity. Err, I mean “budding love story.”

Wow. Deep.

Anyhoo, I give you this. I ask that you please enjoy the clip art.

Stage 1

Years 0-2: The “I haven’t Been With You Long Enough to Realize How Much You Annoy Me” stage, comprised of long walks and hand-holding, starry-eyed dinners, cocktails, discussions, movie-watching, reasonable arguments, cuddling and pet names. Also, smug looks directed at women who are in Stages 2 and 3 with their men, and a distinct feeling of superiority, having obviously been deemed the first woman in history to not wonder if she could turn herself into a lesbian to avoid further intimacy with the male population. Also, women in this stage rest easy in the comfort and surety that they will never, ever want to pummel their little love kitten with a meat cleaver. Because he’s PERFECT. Duh.

A Stage 1 Valentine looks something like one of these:

And now…

Stage 2, Years 2-5: The “Holy Shit I had no Idea You Had These Sorts of Habits” Stage, also known as the “I Must Mold You Into Something More Like What I Had In Mind” Stage, characterized by a lot of discussions with girlfriends regarding the man’s deficiencies, as well as a decent amount of wonderment and awe as the female discovers The Male is not at all perfect (and may actually have some sort of disability, as evidenced by the fact that he can’t find stuff that’s 3 inches from his forehead and leaves hair in the bathroom sink after shaving). This stage also involves the surfacing of all other incomprehensible tendencies, causing the female to realize she’s going have to fix this character if they’re ever going to make it. And therefore, she begins to WORK, which of course results in long, long, long discussions, unreasonable bickering, maybe therapy but for sure tears, cajoling, threatening, flailing and general malaise, and, most likely, the arrival of an infant or two.

Honest Valentines at this stage may look like this:

And then, if the couple in question makes it past Stage 2, they enter Stage 3 (years 6 – ?), commonly known as the “Well Obviously You are not Going to Change and I’m Tired of Fighting so I’ve Accepted you and your Weirdness” Stage. (Yes, these stages have awkwardly long titles. Not particularly catchy, I know. Don’t blame me. I didn’t make it up.) Oh wait.

As you can see, this is something of a deal-breaker stage – since it’s pretty much Stage 3 or Stage Bye-Bye. Stage 3 is characterized by a lot of glaring but less complaining, fewer divorce threats and a surface-level acceptance of small, irritating habits (such as buying odd gadgets that will never ever be used EVER, or eating onions before bed). It also involves some strange compromises (“Honey, if you pick up your bath towel from the floor every day, I’ll start squeezing the toothpaste from the bottom.”) and subtle retaliation (as opposed to the long, long, long discussions in stage 2 (or therapy)). On the plus side, this Stage results in a weird peace and vague sense of serenity and, occasionally, some intense relief  regarding the fact that you didn’t throw in the towel when things got rough (and therefore, thank god, you don’t have to deal with these hoodlum children alone). Women in this stage feel a little like badass survivors of some great calamity, like a tsunami, or fire. “We almost didn’t make it, kids. We really had to work HARD to make this marriage work. Ah, but look at us now…”

And we feel a little victorious. And yeah, alright, I’ll say it: A little in love.

Enough of the sappy crap.

Real valentines in this stage may look something like this:

And with that, let me just say: Happy freaking Valentine’s Day, ladies.

xoxoxoxo

So occasionally I come across some little quiz or whatever “helping” people determine if they’re ready to become a parent. This is, of course, totally ridiculous, because there is no possible way anybody could ever be “ready” for the train wreck that is New Parenthood.

You can’t prepare for that. (Neither the joys nor the horrors.)

Go ahead, read BabyCenter and Parenting Magazine, buy all the books, let them lull you into a space of confidence and security…but get ready to fall EVEN HARDER once that kid comes and you realize they sold you LIES.

I repeat: there is no preparing for this.

There are, of course, our super over-achieving types who make spreadsheets to record poops and pees and have money coming out their ears and therefore buy all the gear and DO EVERYTHING PERFECTLY – but, in my experience, those are usually the people who suffer the most, especially when their kid turns out to be the most non-spreadsheet-adaptable human on the planet. Invariably, they end up with the kid that defies all logic, routine or reason.  They have the freaking nutjob baby who sleeps like one hour a week and wails the rest of the time. (While watching Baby Einstein and doing flashcards, of course.) By the way, Baby Einstein is like the only thing my baby will watch for more than 12 seconds…SCORE!

But if a checklist actually existed that may actually help people determine whether they are ready for day-to-day, on-the-ground parenthood, it would (in my [dark, twisted] opinion) look something like this:

Are you ready to be a parent? Let’s find out! Mark all the items on the below list that are true for you. If you choose 20 or more, you’re ready for parenthood!

1. I only like to sleep when other people tell me I can sleep.
2. I enjoy using the restroom in the company of others.
3. I like poop.
4. I like poop on my hands.
5. If I were to, say, find silly putty stuck between my bed sheets, I’d think it was cute.
6. My greatest pleasure in life is driving humans around in a hurry.
7. I believe money should be spent on character-building activities of questionable value and Starbucks.
8. Quarterly sex will suffice.
9. I enjoy receiving unsolicited advice from toothless women who smell like gin.
10. I also like it when they touch my belly.
11. I seek opportunities to engage in outrageously high-stakes activities for which I am totally underprepared.
12. If I could, I would wash approximately 12,000 garments a day.
13. I like guilt.
14. I like constant talking and a low hum of irritating, indecipherable noise.
15. I prefer my tits closer to my knees.
16. When walking around my house barefoot, I throw food and small toys on the ground because I like the feel of them between my toes.
17. I prefer to work during vacations.
18. In restaurants, I like to walk around every four minutes and eat my food standing up while chasing a squirrel on crack.
19. My goal in life is to act every day exactly like my mother even though I think I’m not.
20. I’m okay with never seeing the floor of my car again.
21. I’m ready to want to stab myself in the eye with a toothpick on a sometimes hourly basis then somehow, at the end of the day, cry because I realize my life won’t always be like this.
22. In short, I’M READY FOR MADNESS.

Now why don’t they write THAT on BabyCenter?

There’s really no appropriate introduction for this, except to say that, for funsies, I decided to create a few bumper stickers. You know, things I would put on my car, were I not afraid of getting mowed down by some irate stranger.

By the way, if you are easily offended or sensitive or believe some things are sacred and should just not be made fun of openly on the internet, I suggest you skip this post. No really. I warned you…I’ll give you a chance to think about it…

Still here?

Good. I knew you’d stay.

That’s why we’re friends.

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Okay seriously. Should we print one of these?