“The Night of the War Zone”
DAD BOD AND DOUGH
You think you know tough moments as a dad.
Fevers.
Tears.
Sleepless nights.
But nothing…
—and I mean nothing—
prepares you for when your child is really sick.
Because kids don’t aim.
They don’t warn you.
They don’t think,
“Let me find a basin.”
No.
They just…
explode.
Walls.
Floors.
Toilet.
The entire bathroom.
“What the Hell just happened?”
Last night…
we entered what can only be described as:
a war zone.
I stood there for a second…
frozen!
Do I clean?
Do I help her?
Do I just… accept defeat?
But there she was…
small, tired, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, Dad…”
And just like that…
nothing else mattered.
I got her into the shower.
Warm water.
Gentle voice.
Quiet reassurance.
“Hey… it’s okay. It happens.”
Meanwhile, behind me…
the battlefield remained.
“ How come Cinderella got a Fairy Godmother and I have to go this alone”
And here’s the truth no one tells you:
I can clean anything.
Mud.
Spills.
Broken things.
But this?
This is different.
This is the one thing that makes me want to throw up.
So there I was…
mask on.
gloves on.
every disinfectant known to man.
Fighting for my life.
And I kept thinking…
“How… how does this much come out of such a small human?”
It defies logic.
It defies science.
It defies everything.
But eventually…
the war was won.
The bathroom survived.
(I think.)
She was clean.
Wrapped up.
Safe.
And that’s when it hit me…
Being a dad isn’t about the clean moments.
It’s about the ones that are messy, uncomfortable, and honestly… a bit traumatic.
Because even when you’re standing in the middle of absolute chaos…
you still show up.
And sometimes…
showing up means:
comforting your child…
while trying not to throw up yourself.
And yes…
as I stood there, exhausted…
I made one very important mental note:
I will never eat carrots or lettuce the same way again.
“ Hoekom moet ek so suffa?
Raising a daughter!
Raising a business!
Raising hell when necessary!
