Power vomit. That’s the central element in my lives these days. A child that power vomits. (The other child likes to lick. Long story. Not the vomit! Eew. No, she licks people's cheeks. She has an odd dog thing going for her.) I don’t own a shirt that has been vomited upon.

Of course, this is normal for any parent of a newborn. It’s not like I’m surprised. However, that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Soldiers know they are going to be shot at, but that doesn’t mean they’ll like it.

I’m also not supposed to call it vomit either. It’s “spit up.” Next time I drink a six-pack of beer while eating a cheese ball, I’m going to call it “spit up” when I spend an hour in the bathroom puking my guts up.

But, babies are afforded that cutification (I invented that word) of their bodily necessities. They “dirty their diaper,” or are “wet.” They “spit up” or have “gas.” They are too small and defenseless to have such base acts as puking and defecating associated with them.

Just try it one time. Hold a baby and say to the mother, “Hey, the kid just sh** himself.” See what sort of reaction you get. (See if you can still walk at all.)

Babies are also “fussy.” Which is merely a nicer way of saying “screaming at the tops of their lungs.” Babies are never annoying, either. They may be demanding or clingy, but never annoying. They never irritate you either. You get “frustrated” or “frazzled” but you are never allowed to say, “This baby is pissing me off!” No matter how much you want to. Babies are too small and defenseless to piss you off.

Babies are too small and defenseless to elicit any reaction other than awe and love. They have chubby little cheeks and cute little eyes. They have little arms and legs that kick and do cute little things, like poke themselves in the eyes.

But then they grow up, and parents find them fair game. While babies can get away with anything, including masterminding the domination of the universe, school-age children are totally screwed.

They forget to put their cereal bowl in the sink. They leave their toys on the floor. They put their homework off until the last minute. They don’t flush the toilet. They complain about dinner.

This is the age of “because I said so.” Quite often parents don’t have a tangible reason for asking kids to do certain things. You can’t answer, “Why do I have to pick up my clothes” with “Because I don’t want to!” Nor can you say, “Because I’m trying to teach you take personal responsibility for your life and property so that you don’t grow up to be a selfish little brat like the girl next door.

Babies can eat and sleep on demand. Kids have to wait until you say it’s okay. Are they tired at 7 p.m.? NOOOOO! They can’t fall asleep then! They’ll wake up too early! What will I do then?
All the things we expect of kids. Everything we ask them to do. How often we compare them to ourselves. How often we try to make them ourselves. No wonder kids these days are stressed out.

But what a ride. For every one of those moments I mentioned above, there’s a totally mystifying moment.

A baby’s smile. Proudly displaying a report card. Realization of self. Goofy dances. Made up words. Excitement over mail sent to “resident.”

It doesn’t matter. Children are a wonder. They have powers beyond comprehension. One little coo or “I love you daddy” and the day’s problems don’t just melt away . . . it’s as if they never existed. Those simple words, or the clasped hands on the back of your neck put everything in perspective.

If the events of the last few months have made us feel small and worthless . . . insignificant, I seem to have forgotten.

For in the moment of that coo or “I love you” I feel like the world’s most colossal man.

Yeah, I know. The ending of this one is gooey . . . kind of makes you want to spit up, doesn’t it?