Jack the Ripper: A Real Gas Act

Six months.

The DadabaseHere at The Dadabase, I try to keep things classy, but it doesn’t help when Jack would rather keep them gassy.

I only know what it’s like to have a little boy.  If my wife and I ever have a daughter, I’m sure things will be dramatically different.  One of the main differences I wonder about is if baby girls are as gassy as my son.

Males are expected to be funny.  And Jack definitely is.  Even as a newborn with closed eyes who slept most of the time, Jack made a habit of breaking the ice (by breaking the wind) with every new person who would hold him.  It was his way of saying, “Hi, nice to meet you.”  A bit of an initiation for each new person, as well.

Nearly seven months later, Jack’s still practicing his potty humor.  Last Sunday as I was driving home after church, my wife reminded me that we needed to stop the car for gas.  Right on cue, Jack did his part to help: “Ppppffffffthhh…”.

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Later that day, I was holding Jack out on the front porch, letting him gaze at the sheep farm across the street.  One of the farm workers pulled up in a red pick-up truck.  He had the windows open and the radio on.  A Pat Benetar song was playing: “Hit me with your best shot… Fire away!”

So Jack did.  Like he actually knew what he was doing.

I can’t keep from laughing out loud at his gas antics, especially when we make conversation with Jack and his response is simply “ppppffffffthhh…”.  It’s as if to say to us, “You know what I think about that…?”

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In his head, he has already associated his “gas leaks” with humor.  Even when he’s not feeling himself, I can make the (in)appropriate sound with my mouth, and without fail, Jack immediately starts laughing out loud.  Sure, I’ll eventually have to teach him to behave properly in public as he gets old enough to understand manners and self-control.  But until then, Jack gets a free pass on passing gas.

And I guess that’s one of the many reasons that children take us back to a more carefree place.  Without worrying  about social expectations, without having to appear to always keep it all together, without a necessary world of concerns, children ultimately remind us of a time when the biggest problem in life was that Teddy Ruxpin’s size D batteries needed to be replaced.

For what it’s worth, it took four of those stupid batteries.

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