Smokey Mountain Breakdown

I'm trying to get back on schedule. You know the one where I post the next day's post at midnight.

Right now, I am roundly congratulating myself on being such a fricking genius that I never had children. I did some really stupid stunts in my youth, but having kids...thank God...that wasn't one of them.

It's not that I don't adore children. I flat out love the little buggers and always have. Particularly when they start talking and relating and going home to their mommies and daddies after I've spoiled them rotten and taught them the "Rolly Polly Fish Head" song. Mothers of the world...I so, so, so salute you! You are all such better women than I...warrior goddesses the lot of you.

I know that many of my readers have daughters. Daughters they would like to forgo childbearing until they are ready for the awesome responsibility. My suggestion is that you give your twelve year old daughter a baby goat to bottle raise. Forget, Baby Think It Over. There is simply no way a doll can simulate the smell and general yukky-ness of urine and feces soaked diapers. You know what I'm talking about. That warm heaviness when you feel the back of their diaper and know there's a great big ole load in it. That's the part that's going to squick these girls out.

The other cool thing about this plan, is that baby goats go from that squalling infant stage to toddlers in about four days. All of a sudden, they aren't just peeing and pooping machines, easily confined to their crib (or dog crate as the case may be)...now they are getting into everything. I had to clean goat pee out of my surge protector just today. In one week, you can cover about three years of infant human behavior. In real time. With real pee. And real poop.
Diapers, midnight feedings, really loud squalling. The whole nine yards. Sure they're cute. But do you really want 18 years of this? Right now?

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V-Man was real sweet to point to one of my baby goat posts. He'd sent me a link to another one of his old posts. We seriously need to compare notes. It seems we know lots of the same people from Bluffton.

And not only my sister who he evidently had a serious boner for when he was a teenager.

Ewww. I don't even want to go there.

Honestly, I think my brother, Bob, and V-Man need to get together and hit the flats after some redfish. I've got a feeling those two would get on like a house on fire. Telling all dem stories mens tell so well when they is by theyselves with only the slow chop of the water for company.

I'm getting nostalgic. I just slipped into Gullah for a moment there.