Paul Davis: Octomom has 14 kids, but so do I

That woman in California, known as the Octomom, has 14 kids. Big deal! I have 14 kids, but don’t receive nearly as much attention and have never been offered a reality show. In fact, I’m running away from reality.

She got eight of her 14 at one time. Ain’t that a hoot? And there was no sex involved. So much for abstinence. It didn’t keep her from getting real pregnant. She grew to the size of the Goodyear Blimp with the help of an over zealous fertility doctor and a giant Petri dish.

I prefer making babies the old fashioned way and doing it one at a time. It’s much simpler, especially since men aren’t called upon to do impossible things with their bodies.

My 14th is a great-grandchild whose name is Anderson Julien Blount. He is the firstborn for granddaughter Amanda and her husband, C.J. You get to 14 kids by adding together six kids, 13 grandkids and now one great-grandchild.

My bride and I are not nearly old enough to be great-grandparents. The baby, however, did come early. We were on a cruise to Mexico during the final days. We kept in touch with the impending birthing process by cell phone. I hate to see that bill.

We arrived back in Mobile and were trying to shed our sea legs when the phone rang again at 9 a.m. Labor had begun. There was another call at 10. Grandmother Jenny was at her daughter’s bedside. She had anticipated the labor 18 hours in advance and was already at the Birmingham hospital. 10:30, Roger was racing from Atlanta to Birmingham to join in the chorus with those chanting, “Push, push.” Amanda did her part. The epidural was administered and she continued with her deep breathing and pushing. Almost 12 hours later, that little bitty girl gave birth to a giant baby, 8 pounds and 13 ounces. Whew, what a day. Then a night of rejoicing. The kid had 10 fingers, 10 toes, a head full of hair and some very healthy lungs.

My bride brought me as many pictures as her phone would hold. We have been told that we cannot call him Andy rather than Anderson. The grandparents have a say in this, but the parents have the final word. I’ve been told that great-grandparents have almost no say when it comes to training, spoiling, punishing, coddling, sweets and treats. They are allowed to get up during the night when there’s crying going on, but I can’t hear so I’m safe there. Great-grandparents are allowed, even encouraged, to change diapers. I don’t know how that’s done today, either. The last diaper I changed was really stinky. It was cloth and was held in place by two safety pins, which I managed to sick into the baby while getting it to snap into place. After the third such instance, I was even barred from doing that.

We also had diaper service. The person who started that company should have been shot. Can you imaging storing pooped diapers for a week waiting for the man to pick them up? What were the qualifications for that job?

They all plan to put me on diaper patrol once again. Diapers today are some sort of paper product and do not require safety pins. I looked at some at the grocery store just to get myself up to speed. One brand said it worked up to 40 pounds. Surely you’d change diapers more regularly than that.

I can’t wait to hold the newest member of our family, provided my bride, the grandparents and the parents will all give their permission. I’m looking for a bit of cooperation on this.

My bride has already started showing me (again) how to hold the child. “You put you right hand under his back and his rear end. You gently place your left hand under his head and neck.”

Can’t wait to hold Anderson in my hands in correct position, raise him gently up to my neck and have him burp all the way down my back. Precious angels, these great-grandbabies.

Paul Davis writes a weekly column for the Opelika-Auburn News. You may contact him at paul_davis@charter.net