"Blow Out Your Pampers Feat. Animal"

I don't know that I've ever seen a newspaper article cite a song as a source, but there's always a first time:

The "Single Ladies" singer was elated about giving birth to Blue Ivy, her first child, after having a miscarriage and struggling with pregnancy, according to a song about her daughter released by Jay-Z two days after the baby's birth, "Glory feat. B.I.C."

It's sort of like saying, "Paul McCartney reported having 'a wonderful Christmastime,' according to the song 'Wonderful Christmastime.'"

(By the way, I'm still cheesed off by the reports that Jay-Z's entourage closed the NICU to fathers. Beyonce didn't exactly deny it, saying that "Security was very tight, but not just for the sake of it. [. . .] It was for the security of our daughter." That story made me really sad when I read it.)

We were following Beyonce's pending delivery while Jen recuperated in the hospital. I remember how little sleep we seemed to get in the two nights after Animal was born; my head hurt — ached — like I was up all night. It was enough just to stare at our child and be amazed by him. Which brings me to my second point: Where in the fuck did Jay-Z find the time to not only write a song but also go record it and release it to the world?

Jen made the point that he might have written the song beforehand. If so, I think that's even worse: How do you know what you're going to feel before it happens?

Every once in a while before Animal was born, someone might ask me something along the lines of "what I thought" or some such — the subtext, I always assumed, was "You're going to Disneyworld, baby! So exciting!" And the truth is that I didn't know what I thought — eventually I just got comfortable with the idea that I had no expectations about what it might be like, and that I didn't want to superimpose expectations about what parenthood would be like.

To be fair, most people — especially those who were already parents — tended to say something along the lines of "things "are going to change so much." That seemed less laden with expectation, but also a little foreboding.

Anyway, one thing I wouldn't have done was write a lyric like "The most amazing feeling I feel/Words can't describe what I'm feeling for real." Because A) The worst thing in the world for someone who expresses himself through words is to punt and claim that "words can't describe what I'm feeling" and B) If you're fudging and telling me what you're feeling in advance of feeling it, then telling me that you can't describe what you're feeling is . . . making my head hurt.

But to go back to "what I thought," one thing I remember feeling at some point long before Animal was a yolk sac on an ultrasound was noticing how ridiculous Jen and I probably started looking. It wasn't necessarily one thing in particular but rather a straw man (straw couple?) based a composite of a bunch of people I've met in passing and probably have seen depicted on episodes of Sex and the City. That's the Childless New York Couple. Not trying to judge — believe me — but after a while I kept thinking how goofy stuff like $40 mayonnaise really is. We probably look like total assholes. As Goober might say, "Take it to heart."

Let's put it this way, when I saw the New York Times' "Weekender" ad campaign something flipped in me, and I knew that wasn't how I ever wanted to perceive myself. "I'll trade you the Magazine for the Book Review"? You know what? Fuck you:

You know what you don't see in those ads? That un-unsheathed blue plastic bag-of-Sunday-advance-sections still sitting on the coffee table Tuesday evening, right next to the hand sanitizer and box of wet wipes.

The real lede of the Beyonce article above is that Jay-Z "of course" will change his daughter's diapers — the idea being that he'll help out, and not just materially. Which is good — "of course" — but I can't really see him waking up at 4 a.m. after the baby blows out its Pampers . . .

If I were him, I might have waited a few weeks until I released the song written to honor the birth of my child. It might go something like this:

It's 3:56 and wouldn't you know it, we're both still up
You on the changing pad, me avoiding what's flying forth from your butt
When you blow out your Pampers
I wonder who the fuck designed mesh hampers

Or some such . . .

Posted: January 18th, 2012 | Author: | Filed under: The Cult Of Domesticity | Tags: , ,

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