Hollywood comedies about parenthood depend entirely on making raising a kid look a ridiculous, hectic mess. Then, eventually the leading man finds out that in the end, the rewards make it all worth it. That's mostly because for whatever reason, baby murder is still taboo in modern Hollywood comedies.
When you have a real kid, you realize there's plenty of stuff those movies don't show you. If they did, their zany comedy about a single father finding a baby on his doorstep would quickly become a nightmare inducing horror that would shut down the genitals of any aspiring parent. Maybe that's why you don't see...
In the movies, the setup is always the same. A baby starts crying and the uneducated parent tries to figure out what the problem is. After a couple of attempts to feed and rock it, they sniff the air and their expression switches to disgust. A wacky changing scene follows, and the problem is solved. What they don't show you is that there are much more terrifying things than poop under that diaper.
What most parents aren't prepared for is the day the baby decides to evacuate 20 tons of waste from his system every 10 minutes for 24 hours straight. No matter how much you change the kid, his skin is in constant, direct contact with feces and urine. And not in a good way, Japan. On top of that, every time you change him, you're wiping the same area, and no matter how gentle the cloth, no matter how carefully you wipe, it's going to rub the skin raw just from the sheer repetition.
This turns it into an open wound.
The next time the baby starts to cry, you'll get out your poop disposal equipment, remove the diaper and recoil in horror. Blood. Plain as day, there it is. An open, bleeding wound covered in blisters and caked with shit that starts at the genitals and wraps clear to his tailbone. And without any medical training whatsoever, you get the task of figuring out how to treat it without making it worse. And make no mistake, this is your job. It's common enough that they'll laugh you out of a hospital for wasting their time with bullshit like this, and a doctor's appointment is going to end with him prescribing the exact diaper rash cream you already have. The one that doesn't work.
As gently as you can, you'll clean the area while your baby screams as if you're wiping him with a chainsaw. You'll put on the cream, which will feel like Satan pissing acid onto his swollen, shredded skin. And then you'll realize that the only way this thing is going to heal is if you leave off the diaper and let that ass get some air. Knowing full well that within the next 10 minutes, you're going to be asking another parent what the best cleaner is to get human shit out of your carpet. Or maybe one of your single friends who drinks a lot.
This will happen once every few weeks until your kid is out of diapers.
Then start back up again when they're old enough to discover the kinky shit.
4Holy Shit, He's Bleeding Internally!
So our movie guy is right in the middle of his wacky diaper changing scene, and inevitably, he'll proclaim in shock, "Oh my God! What did you eat? It's GREEN!" Even the most isolated, antisocial dumbass on the planet is educated on the fact that baby poop is weird. What they don't show surprises me, though, because every parent I know can tell the following story with a knowing grin, right down to the most minute detail.
"When you're done, I'll tell you about the time Jimmy ate a window."
One of the most horrifying things I can remember was when my first son was about a year old. Again, it involves a diaper change. Nothing was abnormal. No rash, no crying, no sign of pain whatsoever. But his shit was streaked with blood. Ribbons and ribbons of dark, crimson blood, swirled in and out like a ...chocolate swirlcake or something. I don't know my cakes.
Of course I panicked. I called the hospital, who told us to bring him in right away. So we packed up for an expected overnight stay, filled with tests, needles and terrified screaming. Just as we were about to head out the door, I smelled an inevitable delay.
We again pulled out the changing stuff, took off his diaper, and stared in the strangest mix of relief and confusion. Green alien blood, running in the same ribbon pattern as before. As green as The Incredible Hulk's poop. Or somebody else's poop if they ate the Incredible Hulk. It doesn't matter. Before I could register even the most remote guess as to what was going on, my then-wife had already searched his room and came back with two half-eaten crayons. One maroon and one green. I almost asked her why she was eating crayons at a time like this, when it hit me.
"Mmmmmm ... Dibs on the blue one!"
It turns out that crayons melt inside the digestive tract of a toddler, but they don't get absorbed into the system.
Ever wonder why parents talk so much about their kids' shit? It's because that is the quickest way to tell if they're healthy or not. When you are a parent, you will do it, too. That kid's feces will become your life for several years, and you'll talk about it without even knowing that you're doing it. It will become as natural as talking about your day at work. Though for some people, if your work involves looking at turds all day, nobody will notice the change.
Shit, I hope he learned Fireball before going down there.