Being A Dad Ain't Bad

2011 - Year of the Dad

2011-01-25T06:16:00.000-08:00

Given that the world is going to end in 2012, I figured we should at least give this another go for a year. I mean, the last thing I want is you to suffer through another year without access to me.

So much has changed since we went off line. We’ve moved to a new state. Why, you ask? Let’s just say that streaking at a Washington Capitals game is a) cold b) painful c) frowned upon. On a positive note, though, my junk was confused for a goalie stick by most. Got 4 numbers. And a contract offer.

In other news, there’s a new offspring! That’s right, in addition to the little princess there is now a boy in the mix.

For those who may not know this, until you have a son, you actually know very little about the penis. See, me and my penis are like partners in a cop drama. I know him. He knows me. We have each other’s back. And most of the time, one of us convinces the other to do some pretty stupid things.

Anyway, I thought I knew all there was to know about the old giggle stick. Then I had a boy. And suddenly I’m being asked questions about the kidney cracker that I wasn’t expecting. Cleaning it, observing it, staying clear of the line of fire during diaper changes. I mean, when did it all get so complicated? To this point, all I had to do was make sure not to get mine caught in the zipper and life was pretty good.

Interesting side note – the old baby coin purse has to be cleaned and observed properly too. I haven’t spent this much time caring for my own junk and here I am cleaning the poor kid like he’s a Monet painting and I’m a restoration expert.

Anyway, more to come soon enough – and we hope to hear from you guys…but in the mean time, enjoy the rest of your day knowing that we’re back and your life is just that much better for it. You’re welcome.

I'm Back and Better Than Ever (maybe not)

2009-12-23T08:06:00.000-08:00

Did you miss me?

I've come out of retirement to bring you Dads out there possibly the single greatest gift for your wife this Christmas season. Now, if you're trapped in a blizzard in a cabin up in the woods, then the greatest gift would be a diamond necklace and a cheesy line like "I'll always be here for you" -- then a chorus of women would sing "Every Kiss Begins with K" while you lovingly embrace.

Truth be told, the greatest gift at that point is either a satellite phone or a shovel and a case of 5 hour energy.

But I digress.

Me and Mrs. Me were in a heated exchange (argument, not sex) and it came up that I don't appreciate her enough. You'll recognize this argument, of course, because every single one of you has heard it before. It's the standard go to when womenfolk want to drop the hammer on you. It's indefensible - like calling someone a homophobe. One particular line stuck out in it all: She said, "You get a performance review at work to let you know you're doing a good job. I don't get one."

Firstly, let me be clear, Performance Reviews are rarely to tell you that you're doing a good job. Usually they are there to tell you that you're only marginally fucking up less than the guy in accounting that got laid off last week. In a down economy, a Performance Review is just paperwork justification for why they're going to toss your ass out in the snow.

Again, I digress.

So, my friends, I submit to you -- THE STAY AT HOME MOM PERFORMANCE REVIEW. That's right....a Performance Review that YOU can fill in and give to your wife. If you want a copy, email me at anthonyp@integratedinspectionservices.com.

Now, when you read this, you're going to say "But Anthony, this is all good - it appears you have the perfect wife." Yes....yes I do. And that's the story we all need to stick with. You back me up and I'll back you up. If you elect to fill this in with negative comments, a) I accept no responsibility and b) you're ass is grass and she's a lawnmower plus see rule a.

Merry Christmas guys, you can return that horrific set of "comfy pants" you thought she'd love ; they were too big anyway, so I just saved you an ass chewing.

Changing of the Guard

2009-05-07T13:03:00.000-07:00

You've probably noticed that I haven't posted in a while. I'm sorry that your lives have been hollow without the wisdom and wit of my words. Fortunately, most of you found the will to go on living -- sorry, Dom Deluise.

This will be Anthony's (Big Daddy, Italian Stallion, Italian Sausage, Daddy #1, whatever you'd like to call me...) last post. I'll give you a minute to pull yourself together.......wow, that was quick.

You're probably saying "Why, Why, WHY, Anthony? What could possibly take you away from your dozen adoring readers?!"

There is a simple answer. Money. COLD HARD CASH. I want it, others got it, and I need to get it. That's right, moolah, greenbacks, lettuce, cheddar, frog skins - simultaneously the root of all evil and what makes the world go 'round.

Those of you with kids know that they are to money what Championship Hot Dog Eaters are to franks. And so, I'm branching off to start my own business. In an effort to keep karma on my side; I'm also trying to do something good for people, good for the environment, and good for my baby girl.

Teaming up with Noble House Building Services, I'm starting Integrated Inspection Services; a company that will specialize in Energy Auditing, Diagnostic Inspections, and Safety / Comfort Home Improvements.

It has been alot of fun writing for this site and interacting with you folks - and I hope that you'll check in on "I.I.S." to see how we're doing, as well as pick up some relatively simple tips you can use to lower your utility bills and increase the quality of the air you and your kids are breathing.

I hope this post finds everyone happy and healthy -- and I now leave you in the capable (might be stretching it a bit) hands of Eric, Jeff, the Teacher and that other guy ....

I'm Not There For You

2009-04-03T04:35:00.001-07:00

An Open Letter from Daddy to Daughter;

Baby Girl, I know I haven't been able to spend much time with you lately. You're too young to understand, and probably won't be old enough to comprehend it for a long time, but we're in something called a "recession". I'll explain all that when you're older. But, it means that alot of people are losing their jobs. And Daddy doesn't want to be one of them.

You might hear people say that I'm not there for you. They are right. I'm not there...FOR YOU. I'm not there because I'm working late, or working weekends, and not because I want to - because I have to. Your Great Uncle Bob saw this coming a few years ago and gave me some great advice; "Be in the top 25% of your company". I thought he was overreacting; but apparently he was right on the money.

I'm not there FOR YOU. Grandpa did the same thing for me. He worked long hours, he worked weekends, he missed alot of events and things - all because he wanted me to have an easier life. I want the same for you. He didn't want me to grow up and have to work as hard as he did - and I don't want you to have to work as hard as I do.

So, I'm sorry that we haven't had much time together, and I'm sorry that Mommy and I argue a bit more now over stupid things; things you don't understand and won't understand for some time.

Just know, that when I'm not there, I'm thinking about you and it's what makes it possible to get through the tougher days; the scary days and the stressful days. And no matter how bad it gets, there is no force on this Earth that would prevent us from taking care of you. Mommy and I would do anything if it meant you had a better life.

I know I'm not there for you right now, but it's because I'm not there for you.

Chip, Chip, Cheerio

2009-03-26T05:13:00.000-07:00

Guys have an understanding when it comes to certain behaviours; specifically eating. For example, when I was in my bachelor paradise apartment, if I dropped a couple pieces of cereal, I did what every guy does; kicked it under the refrigerator. This is an acceptable practice. It's understood that at a later date (probably just prior to move out) you'll get to cleaning up these items.

When I moved in with my wife, I was shocked to hear that this is no longer acceptable. "You mean, I have to pick up the ice cube that fell out of the freezer? But it slides so nicely under the refrigerator when I tap it with my foot...and it's kind of like cleaning a little of the floor when it melts" I would think. Apparently not.

So, you can imagine my excitement when baby girl came along. Now that she's enjoying finger foods (Definition: Enjoying (v.) -- To shove as many cheerios in your mouth as is possible and then choke on them, scaring your parents and forcing one of them to do the hooked finger mouth clean out) I can go back to my old ways a little bit.

When I removed baby from the high chair, I noticed a few errant cheerios on the floor. This was a very happy moment for me. Baby girl was doing the same thing I had done. Meaning, very simply, that I'd found yet another person to blame for my short comings. So, the next time my wife sees a piece of food on the floor, I can just say "Oh, she must have dropped something and I didn't see it". hahahahahaha....it's almost too easy.

She's been getting blamed for various stinks in the room, might as well tack on food messes. And when she's old enough to walk - when I break or lose anything, I can instantly blame her. "Baby girl must have been playing with that and broke it" or "Maybe she was fooling around with this and that's why it doesn't work" (even when I know that me taking it apart, and putting it back together with 3 left over parts is probably why it isn't working.

Being a parent has it's perks, indeed.

Eating Disorder

2009-03-18T19:15:00.000-07:00

Look, I don't pretend to know it all. Wait....wait, yes I do. Ok, ignore that first sentence. But, every once in a while I need some of life's happenings explained to me.

Today - it's a mysterious phenomenon. For those with children, you may know what I speak of. The incredible reappearance of food. My daughter has the ability to make food disappear, and then, seemingly out of nowhere hours later, make it reappear.

6 pm is dinner time. We've begun the finger food portion of feedings. Finger food is a bit of a misnomer. Fist food is probably more accurate. Now, I remember from high school the teachings anomalies in physics. Like when two stars collide and a black hole is formed that gobbles up nearby matter. Much the same way, I watched my daughter compress a piece of banana until it disappeared. The meal continued.

7 pm -- time for bath. After undressing baby and checking the diaper (I learned the hard way that placing baby into the tub without TRIPLE checking the buttocks for clingers leads to a long evening). I put baby into the tub, and start the soap a dope. That's when baby wow'd me with an amazing trick. She opened her clenched fist...and revealed a banana mash! That's right - she managed to keep a piece of of banana, crushed to the size of Californium (atomic number 98) in her hand for over an hour undetected.

Why? How? These are the questions that jump to mind. If someone said "Anthony, you have to crush this piece of banana in your hand and hold it for the next hour undetected" I'd say 'Get off my lawn, Jahovah's witness!' and then I'd wonder if I could actually do it.

So, I typed this whole thing one handed while I hold my banana. A task I mastered during a long dry spell in college. (Hey yo!!!!!)

Don't Try to Change Me, Facebook!

2009-03-14T13:08:00.000-07:00

I'm going rogue to vent for a second...

Facebook, this relationship is getting tough. I'm starting to hate your stupid face, StupidFace! Look, we both know that you're way out of my league. We've been together for a while now, so I've worked up the courage to tell you something -- I'm tired of you trying to change me.

Every couple of months you suddenly decide I need a revamp. You know, people like me the way I am. My friends like me. My family likes me. My mom says I'm a catch. But here you come with your "tuck in your shirt" and your "you can't hang out with your friends". Suddenly, it's "write something about yourself", "what are you thinking", "this is a stream of your friends' stuff in real time."

Look, life is good for me. I'm happy where we are. I know this isn't going to last...one of us is going to find someone new. But if you keep trying to get me to act the way you want, I'm walking. Sure, she may not be as pretty as you, or as fun. But MySpace puts out too, you know. And she lets me hang up pictures of ex's and play music, and she's a little dirty...which is a welcome change. And she doesn't go out there blabbing that my sister just became single.

So, you do your thing, and I'll do mine...

Soup or Hero

2009-03-13T05:59:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was a kid, I've dreamed of being a Super Hero. We all have. Some go for the strength stuff like the Hulk or Superman. Others like the speed and go for the Flash. Wolverine, Iron Man, Human Torch, Spider Man - all popular choices.

I had no idea, however, that upon becoming a parent, I would become a Super Hero.

BEHOLD....THE HUMAN NAPKIN!

That's right, able to absorb any substance with the flick of a sleeve. Mashed sweet potato on the high chair? Pant leg will take care of that. Got a little formula dribbling down your chin - that's what this thumb is for. Spilled a little juice on the hardwood? Watch the speed with which my sock soaks it up.

Sometimes my powers are executed without me even knowing it. Like yesterday morning when I managed to soak up cat vomit with my bare foot - and didn't even mean to. Sure, it came as a surprise to me and I cursed too loudly for 6 am, but that's an occupational hazard.

I have discovered that all forms of mashed vegetables and fruits can be absorbed quickly and easily. Cotton works best - denim a close second.

But like every super hero, I've met my mortal enemy. The Black Light. On a recent theme park ride, I was unexpectedly attacked by black light - exposing my clothing for the Jackson Pollock painting that they are! My cover nearly blown, my only saving grace was that the ride lasted a few seconds. Anonymity in tact, I quickly hurried us away from that powerful enemy.

Sleep well, friends...no spill will harm you as long as I'm around!

Happy Hour

2009-03-11T04:52:00.000-07:00

You know, two years ago no matter how terrible a day I was having, there were two magic words that would suddenly fill me with joy. Happy Hour. Socializing, enjoying an ice cold brew....nothing made me happier. Over the passed 9 months, however, thanks have changed a bit.

As a parent, Happy Hour has taken on a whole new meaning. Happy Hour is now any extended period of time (35 minutes and up) that baby is taking a nap. Were my wife not English, I'd refer to this new period of joy as Nappy Hour (but that would lead to confusion, I'm sure).

When baby goes down for her long nap (60 to 90 minutes) the mind races. What can I do? I've got all this free time. No baby to chase, no choking hazards to monitor, no entertaining. A whole hour to myself. I can read some of my book. I can watch one of the 45 shows I've DVR'd. Maybe I'll do some Sudoku. Catch up on emails? Check out my Facebook. Take a walk? Do some sit ups (HA!). Play Wii? Call my parents back?

Let me just sit on this couch and think about it.

Hmmm......and asleep.

Yes, near as I can tell baby's nap time has become "family nap time" because if I so much as press one ass cheek to a comfortable surface, I'm going to nod off. Truth be told, it doesn't even have to be that comfortable - I've managed to sleep on my hardwood floor, leaning against the refrigerator, kneeling over a paint bucket and I think I even nodded off while in the bathroom one time (but that's unconfirmed as I didn't watch the clock).

So, with monitor on the side table, I'm doing what every parent loves to do most when their child is sleeping - sleep myself!

Full Steam Ahead

2009-03-09T04:44:00.000-07:00

She's crawling! Yeah! Wait a minute...she's crawling.....towards the stairs, somebody stop her!!!!

That's the logical progression a parent goes through once their child gets super mobile. Picture the road runner from Looney Tunes. She gets revved up and then suddenly, all that remains is a dust cloud in the shape of a baby and she's halfway across the living room floor.

As if this isn't bad enough, baby's love of standing up has translated into another panic inducing behaviour; stair climbing. Now, fear not, there are baby gates up where we can -- by the way, you either need a permit or a degree to put these up...I put so many damn holes in my wall trying to install it properly that I should have just nailed three 2 x 4s across both stairwells and started living solely on the first floor.

Moving on - baby enjoys climbing the two stairs that lead from living room to dining room. The best part about two stairs is that it's just enough of a challenge for them to want to do it - and it's just far enough for them to fall and hurt themselves. She will go up the stairs 12 times in a day, no problem, but that 13th time, she tumbles over backwards like a piece of plywood blowing around in a hurricane. This is typically punctuated by a deep inhale from my wife or myself whichever sees her falling - and then a nice thunk as head meets floor. Wailing ensues. Sometimes stifled laughter from anyone who saw it...and then everyone moves on with their lives.

Better yet - when she gets up the two stairs - she has no idea how to get back down. So, like any semi-intelligent being would...she just races head first for the stairs in the hope, apparently, that gravity will fail to work this time and she'll glide down to the lower landing. It has yet to happen that way. She's usually intercepted just in time to hang awkwardly 8 inches off the ground laughing and wondering why Mommy and Daddy suddenly can't relax anymore.

The good news is that I suspect I'll be shedding pounds as she gets more and more mobile.

First Kid Fifteen

2009-02-28T13:56:00.000-08:00

Sure, you've heard of the freshman fifteen....but there's a little thing these new parent manuals don't tell you. Just after you have your first child, you're probably gonna pack on a little weight.

Now, the books to mention that during the pregnancy you could start to put on "sympathy" weight. I love that term - it really gives us dad's an excuse to get heavier. "Oh, honey, you looked so miserable putting on the baby weight, I decided I needed to experience it too to appreciate you". Hahahaha...no, I like Burger King and I figure if you're letting yourself go, then I am too.

But once the baby comes and your lady friend's body starts returning to normal, you'll find you might be headed in the other direction. See, with a new baby, neither of you is going to much feel like cooking. So you order in. Or, your friends will make meals for you. Usually this consists of lasagna. There's a reason that Garfield is a fat cat - lasagna every other night for two weeks definitely puts a little chunk around the midline.

It gets better - when do you find time to work out with a new baby? You probably don't. So, you get to combine no exercise with alot more calories, less sleep, and stress. It's a wonder we're not all 400 lbs.

So,consider this your warning, playa -- you're about to plump up a bit. The best thing to do is either start learning to cook so you can put together somewhat healthy meals - or hit up Old Navy and get some 40 relax fit jeans. It's up to you. I find your wife's maternity jeans have a nice elastic waste band condusive to love handle expansion.

What were they thinking?

2009-02-26T05:36:00.000-08:00

Look, before I had kids, I thought it was hysterical to see all the toys that looked like penises. Sometimes, I would give the designers the benefit of the doubt and say they probably didn't realize. Other times, it was clear that whoever designed it was laughing his ass off as he got it approved.

Now that I have a child, it's a litle creepy. Why is my daughter playing with a toy that looks like my great grandfather's penis? It's an unhealthy reminder that there are people out there with less then the best intentions for our kids.

Mostly, i just appreciate the comedy in it. When it's someone else's kid. Maybe it's karma, really. For all the funny forwards - the fat jokes - every time I took an inanimate object, pretended it was my penis, and jumped into someone else's photograph. Think of it as cosmic retribution. This is also why I assume I'll have four daughters and never sleep from the time they're 13 through 33.

I'm sure we all have toys that look like something they shouldn't -- message us your pictures and we'll post them here!

Uh...come again?

2009-02-24T12:37:00.000-08:00

Having a baby, for those who are expecting, opens you up to conversations you never thought you'd be having. Sometimes, you find yourself speaking about topics at dinner that you'd blush at if you didn't have kids.

Example:

Couple A: Oh, we've been giving baby A a new soy based formula
Couple B: Really? Has she been constipated?
Couple A: Yes, she's pooping about twice a week. And it's really hard - like a ball. I feel bad for her, she's really straining.
Couple B: We have the opposite problem. Baby B is having terribe diarrhea. He even blows the diaper out sometimes.

For parents, there's no problem at all talking about the intestinal activities of their child. Let's change some of the verbage above and see if it puts things in perspective:

Two people on a date:

Guy: Oh, I've been trying a new soy based milk
Girl: Really? Have you been constipated?
Guy: Yes, I'm pooping about twice a week. And it's really hard - like a ball. I feel bad, I'm really straining.
Girl: I have the opposite problem. I'm having terribe diarrhea. I even blow my underwear out sometimes.

See what I'm saying? Somehow, when you're talking about kids, no topic is off limits. Diapers, rashes, vomit, mucus, wiping techniques, stool reports....the list is endless.

I'd like one day to try it...just ask the question of an adult that I'd ask the parent of a baby. "Hey, Jim - ever seem to get a rash from wiping too hard after a dump?" -- I expect I'd get the reation "uh...say what?"

For parents, however, the reaction would probably be "Yes! As a matter of fact, we switched back to name brand wipes as a result!"

My point? I don't really have one. I just think it's hysterical the dicotamy of proper and improper once kids enter the mix!

Headaches and Hormones - Pregnancy Rules!

2009-02-22T16:33:00.000-08:00

One of our favorite readers is experiencing one of the many joys of pregnancy; HEADACHES!

Now, I guarantee that if someone asked you to list ten annoying things that Headaches would be on there. Think about it - it's an explanation for staying home from school or work, being late, canceling plans, taking a nap, being in a bad mood, oversleeping, and just plain not being a pleasant person. Headaches suck.

For you expectant Dads, be ready for this. Mom is probably going to have headaches and they're not her fault. She's not dehydrated, she's not faking - it's just a riot of chemicals going ape&%$# throughout her body.

Another joy of pregnancy is that it instantly cuts what you can do in half. Most headache meds are on the "don't take if pregnant" list. So, not only does mom get to feel miserable - she doesn't have access to easy relief.

Now, most sites will say "Dad, be comforting", "Dad, do everything for her", "Rub her feet", "Be Patient". I know you're not a total ass, so I won't patronize you. What I will tell you is to take it a little more seriously than you usually do. Mom should probably talk to her doctor. There are medicines she can take but there are MORE medicines she can't.

My advice is, before they even start (and they may not), you should get used to the idea of doing her "jobs" around the house. Cooking, for example (not that it's 1953..but)

Be ready, yo. There are a myriad of miserable things that plague pregnant women - and just as many instinctual Mommy mental strengths that get her through it. The mind and the body are constantly arguing over how she feels...and it is the single best example of why I am SO GLAD to be a guy.

Baby Proof

2009-02-21T12:29:00.001-08:00

HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Oh, I'm sorry...let me wipe away these tears of laughter. Baby Proof. One of the best oxymorons out there. It doesn't matter how much plastic you cram into electric sockets, how many clips you put on cabinet doors and drawers - baby is going to find something to get into that causes trouble.

In my living room right now sits what looks like the product of mating between a coffee table and a wrestling mat. The edges of everything are covered in "protective foam". Baby hasn't hit her head on it yet for a true test, but I will say that it's stopped at least two spills from hitting the carpet. It's like bumpers at the bowing alley for klutzes.

There are companies who thrive off "baby proofing". There are consultants...they'll come into your house, tell you what you need to do, and then install all these baby saving devices. I always thought that was a bit pompous of parents just to pay someone to come in and do it. But, as I was sitting on my kitchen floor screwing catches into my base cabinets, I'd have paid 500 dollars to anyone (even the weird dog walker guy who hangs out by the mailboxes in our community) to put them on for me.

I'm a homebuilder. I build 4 story townhouses for America's Best Builder 2009 -- EYA. We build the absolute best house you've ever seen. And our quality is unmatched. Yet, I couldn't figure out how a god damn piece of plastic with two screws set onto my cabinet door. I was on the verge of just screwing them all shut and calling it a day.

And as a not so gentle reminder -- while I was turning my kitchen into Fort Knox, baby managed to get ahold of the paper directions for said catches and almost choked on them.

Wanna baby proof your house? Don't have a baby.

Why We Do It

2009-02-20T16:22:00.000-08:00

From the bad comes the good, at times.

Right now, baby is definitely in a "i prefer mommy" phase. When I'm holding her, she's constantly looking for Mommy. If baby and I are playing together and Mommy leaves the room, all hell breaks loose.

She's not laughing or smiling at me any more - she doesn't like for me to give her the bedtime bottle, and she's not all that thrilled with me feeding her dinner. This is a tough pill for dad to swallow. After all, she's a girl; Girls are supposed to prefer Daddy. They're supposed to want Daddy around all the time - he's the one who they can wrap around their finger. Why is my name suddenly mud?

Like most Dads, I did the first thing that came to mind. Check the internet. And, as has been happeningmore and more lately, I was reminded why we started this site in the first place.

Here is one of the first links that comes up when you search on this topic:

http://baby.families.com/blog/baby-prefers-mommy-whats-a-dad-to-do

"Dads need to admire how baby looks at mom", "he needs to help mom whenever possible", and "don't be offended when mom makes parenting suggestions"

These sites give us no credit; they assume that the reason baby isn't too into you is because you aren't too into baby. As a matter of fact, a google search of "baby doesn't want dad" first brings up ten sites on 'Dad doesn't want to keep the baby'.

And so that's why we started this site - to hopefully get the word out that, believe it or not, Dads are not just "Mom's Assistant"....sometimes Mom doesn't know best...and not all Dads are Fathers simply because they have to be.

For the love of God, people, give us some credit!

Valient Try Day!!!

2009-02-16T16:39:00.000-08:00

This was my first Valentine's Day as a Dad. There are highs and lows, I'll tell you that right now. First, the high -- my first 'daddy' Valentine's card. It was great; and I've shown it to everyone I possibly could. (Part of the reason I've been asked not to return to Safeway for 6 months).

Now, Mark, Eric and I had extremely different yet somewhat expected experiences. Mark got to go out to dinner at what most Florida residents would call "dinner time". The rest of us know it as an hour before we leave work. As Mark put it "we were walking out of the restaurant just as all the people who still bang were walking in."

Eric got to spend 10 hours in class - and I haven't gotten his update, but if he had enough energy for dinner and a 'date', then God Bless him.

Honeybunches and I made what I can say was the smartest Valentine's decision. The curbside pick up. We still got to enjoy a quality Bonefish meal - without the hassle of being surrounded by too many people pissed off that their reservation is 20 minutes behind schedule.

We ate - watched COPS - and passed out on our respective couches. Valentine's loving? Negative. Instead, I got to get up at 5 am with the baby because she's sick.

And as I sat there, holding a baby in one arm, and a half eaten Reese's peanut butter cup heart in the other, I got to thinking. Is this the future for me? Has Valentine's day gone from a day of sickly emotional confession and red lingerie...to overeating, early bed times, and sugar induced comas?

Statistics don't lie....but liars use statistics

2009-02-13T13:06:00.000-08:00

As a father, you'll soon learn that you're going to want to kill anyone who ever wrote a baby book or article on baby. And here is why.

Mothers will believe anything they read. My wife is a very smart woman, yet the second someone publishes an "article" on the "internet" about babies, she follows them like my mom does Oprah.

Statistics are like the bunker buster of these authors' arsenals. 40% of babies don't sleep 8 hours continuously. 60% of babies don't smile until they're 8 months. 100% of babies shit themselves for the first year of their life.

Here's the thing about statistics; they're bullshit. They're made up. How do I know that? Because I'm right 100% of the time. Oh, don't believe me? Then prove it. Oh....you can't. And you can't double check the author's work either.

Another way they get you is this -- the old "above average" v. "below average". Did you know that 50% of babies are below average? Surprised by how high that is? You shouldn't be...cause that's what a damn average is! It's the middle. 50% are higher...50% are lower.

Yet, these articles write it like you're supposed to be shocked. 50% of babies sleep less than average. Of course they do...that's called "accurate" - it's math - it's not a groundbreaking piece of news. Yet, these authors are trying to get you to feel horrible about your parenting style and buy their book - so you're made to feel guilty.

My favorite is when they totally throw math out the window and blatently try to sell you something. 80% of babies weigh less than average. So, buy my book and find out to feed your kid you terrible, terrible mother. That's what they're saying. You'll also find that these articles typically site information from 1974. (and they were probably eating less because they filled up on lead paint chips and second hand smoke).

The point is - try to remind your wife at all times that "Figures lie, and liars figure"....it's all about the almighty dollar.

Junk Mail

2009-02-11T16:10:00.000-08:00

If you have a child, or even if you've filled out some sort of paperwork that says you're going to have a child, they've got you. I'm talking, of course, about mailer lists.

Donation requests, magazine subscriptions - you name it, you're gonna get it.

Most of these are just plain rip and toss kinds of letters. But there is an evil in your mailbox that you're not even prepared for. The useless product catalogue.

There are a group of people out there who believe that there job is to seperate you from your money. Let's call them "women". The catalogues I'm talking about are not only written BY them, they're written FOR them.

Products in these catalogues fall somewhere between "2 a.m. As Seen on TV" and "both worthless and ridiculous".

For example, how about an Earth Friendly Toddler Toilet Seat Cover? What's coming OUT of your kid's butt isn't Earth Friendly, why should what his butt is ON have to be?

Another example - the toddler air mattess with inflatable bumpers. Are we really going to be somewhere that I actually say "No, honey, she can't sleep in the bed or on the couch. She has to sleep close to the ground on something inflatable!"

Men see these for what they are - entertaining products that you jokingly suggest your friends would get -- "Look at this, babe -- I bet Tim and Judy would buy the 'child's first ginsu knife set' - hahahaha - we're way better parents then they are...muwahahaha".

Women see them for what they're not -- GREAT resources for ideas on what to do with tax return checks.

Your job is to intercept these catalogues. If for any reason, she gets to it before you do, any product she points out should be met with the following phrase; "Oh, I heard about that - they banned it in Canada after three kids died using it".

Problem solved.

My wife gave birth to a wolverine

2009-02-10T08:18:00.000-08:00

Babies have sharp nails. I know they look all cute and innocent, but at a moment's notice they can pretend they're reaching out to grab your nose and slice your face to ribbons. Now, I know it's probably not on purpose...but part of me still wonders. Is she upset with me for letting the bath get too cold the other night? Is she secretly thinking about that time I let her fall off the couch?

When she's in the middle of a crying fit, there's no two ways about it - she's out for blood. She's got teeth pushing through her gums and here only relief is attempting to gouge my eyes out.

Here's another cool thing about baby nails - they grow about 2 inches a day. That's not scientific, but it's a general observation. My wife will cut baby's nails every few days, yet like a cat she seems to suddenly produce talons of terror.

Occasionally she'll scratch herself, usually when she's trying to rub her eyes or grab one of her ears. But it never seems quite as harsh as when she's out to take my face off.

If anyone ever breaks into our house, I'm pretty sure that if I held baby up at pointed her in his general direction, she'd tear that guy up...she also makes julian fries in seconds!

I DON'T see dead people

2009-02-08T12:56:00.000-08:00

Last night, we were greeted with what has become a staple on weekends - the 2 am screaming baby. She's started sitting up and crawling so as soon as she wakes up, you'll either crawl around or try to sit/stand. Thus, waking her up even more.

But last night, one of my biggest fears was catapulted to the forefront. Now, maybe it was because I was sleep deprived, or hung over...or maybe it was because life has been a little hectic recently.....but I swear that baby was smiling, looking at, and conversing with a ghost.

As I held her, she kept looking over my shoulder, staring at something and randomly smiling. She usually only does this when she sees someone.

You can imagine - I had the typical scary movie reaction. I was scared shitless and didn't want to turn around. I just hoped and prayed that it was my grandfather or another family member....not Satan himself.

There's been alot of press on babies and dogs being able to see ghosts. Now, I don't know if baby can see spirits, but I can tell you this; when she woke me up at 6 am, we came down and watched Sunday morning televised church for 4 hours.

Gotta hedge your bets

Welcome to the War, Kid

2009-02-05T16:26:00.000-08:00

Unwittingly, new dad, you've joined a much larger war. You didn't start it. You won't end it. You're just caught up in the middle of it. You're not even really fighting in it; you're kind of like Italy in World War II. You're job is just to agree with your wife...but I'm getting ahead of myself.

There are many fronts to this war, but they mostly exist as such:

Formula mom v. breast feeding mom

Stay at Home Mom v. Working Mom

C-section mom v. natural birth mom

Imagine that you're living in war torn Baghdad. At any moment you could be dragged into a skirmish. This is now your life.

You come home from work and you find your wife, stewing. "What's wrong, hon?" you ask........you pooooor bastard. You're a dead man.

"Do you know what so and so said?! She said that c-sections isn't really child birth...it's just surgery!!! Can you believe that?! What a bitch!!!"

Agree with her. That's all I can say. If you're stupid enough to say something like "I kind of agree" or "Yeah, sort of, I guess".....friend, you're ass is grass and she's a lawnmower.

Like the Israelis and the Palestinians, there will never be peace. The two sides of all the issues above will never agree; and they will always believe they are right. It has torn friends and even family apart. Men don't have a stake in it...they just have to support their wives and go about their business.

God bless you if you never experience this...but if you're in the middle of it like most of us....well, I'll just say this -- Band of Brothers, dude....Band of Brothers.

I'll tell you where I'd like to put that cart

2009-02-01T06:26:00.000-08:00

Before baby came along, alot was different. Seemingly small things have fallen victim to the parenting priorty list. Here's a good example: Shopping carts.

It used to be that I hated when people would just leave the shopping cart at their parking spot. How aggervating is it to pull into a space, only to have to slam the brakes because someone left their cart right in the middle? Or how about when you're trying to walk on the pathway to the store entrance and you're ski slaloming between empty carts just thrown on the curb.

To me - there was no excuse for not at least putting it back in the shopping cart corral they have throughout the parking lot.

Again...that was before kids.

Now, you gotta prioritize. And, I'm sorry Wal-Mart, but your cart fell WAY down on the list. Besides, you have that lazy eyed guy who you pay to round them up - and it gives him a better vantage point for leering at all the women coming and going from the shop.

Taking baby out of the stroller, folding up the stroller, putting baby in the car seat, latching up the car seat, unloading the groceries.....by the time it's all done, the cart just sits there staring at you. "Take me back home" it seems to say. Well, sorry, cart, but there's no way I'm walking the 40 yards to put you back. You've got wheels, cart yourself on back there!

And to the single folk out there who judge us parents...if you turn around, I'd be happy to put the cart where it belongs.

Beware of Strangers...unless they are Barbers

2009-01-29T09:55:00.000-08:00

What is the female form of Barber? Hair dresser, I guess? But I don't want to say I get my hair cut by a hair dresser. I mean, the place is called "Tommy's Barber Shop" so logic would tell me that women should be called Barbers. Or is it Barbress?

That's neither here nor there, really. I took baby with me to get my hair cut recently. She was there for moral support I guess as the hair that is getting cut off my head has started to "mostly" white with some dark brown as opposed to "mostly brown" with a stray white.

Baby girl was sitting in her stroller, watching the various waving kitten statues and the fish tank. (the place is owned and operated by my favorite people - the Vietnamese!) She started to fuss a bit as I was getting my hair cut. The owner, an older Vietnamese woman, walks over and starts talking to baby. Then, she goes and gets a tissue and cleans baby's mouth and nose. Next thing I know, she's rocking the stroller back and forth and singing quietly to baby. I didn't ask her to do any of this...and it never occurred to me that I should ask her to stop. It was one of those completely natural yet strange moments.

Here was someone who was a mom (and I would find out, is now a grandma) who simply say a child that needed attention and gave it to her. It reminds me of those videos where any Mama elephant will protect a baby elephant when the lions come around.

Maternity is hard wired, near as I can tell. We went to dinner with friends and my daughter kept wanting to be held by our female friend. She'd bury her head in her shoulder, smile at her, hug on to her...just like she does with my wife.

I think it's a sixth sense -- babies and women just get along. And rarely will a woman cringe away from a baby. Unless, of course, it's impeding her ability to update her status on Facebook through her blackberry. Or if the baby is standing between her and her cup of Starbuck's coffee.

Moral of the story; Get an asian barber (barbress?) You'll have an almost free baby sitter available from 9 am to 6 pm Monday through Saturday, 10 to 4 on Sunday.

If I were President...

2009-01-24T04:39:00.000-08:00

Since I don't have a chance at being President (I'm not black) - I've decided to run for the fictitious position of "Parenting Czar". Here's the best part...I'm not going to give advice, I'm not going to approve products...none of that. My job will simply be to make Los Statos Unitos more parent friendly.

My first act as Parenting Czar would be the following:

A device will be installed in EVERY checkout lane of the grocery store that registers when someone purchases Pedialyte after 10 pm. This will automatically trigger a series of events. First, the parent purchasing said Pedialyte will instantly be given the tallest, coldest beer of their choice. This is free...as is the Pedialyte. Then, they will be given a pamphlet explaining exactly what to do with a sick baby. Next, a nurse will immediately be dispatched to your residence to evaluate your child and convince you that everything is ok. A video recording monitor will then be mailed to your home so that you can keep an eye on baby 24/7.

Now, I know what you're thinking..."Parenting Czar, who is going to pay for all this?" I've already thought of that. It's covered by your insurance. "But, parenting Czar, I don't have insurance". Yes, you do. That's the first thing that would happen - automatic free health care for anyone with babies. "But, Parenting Czar, that's going to cost a fortune in taxes!" No, it won't. 2% of any BMW 2 seater purchased will be donated to this cause. Don't have a changing station in your restaurant? 500 dollar fine - goes into the account. (shameless plug for

www.changingstationevaluation.com

).

Barack, buddy....homie...I didn't vote for you. But I like you. And I trust you. Make this happen. Parenting Czar in - Car Czar OUT!

Conservation of Matter BUSTED

2009-01-23T04:27:00.001-08:00

I distinctly remember and entire lesson in science class on 'Conservation of Matter'. It was one of those ones where you had to add up CO2 + H2O = and make sure that everything was accounted for on the other side.

I have since discovered that this is total BS. How, you may ask. How was I able to debunk one of the most touted scientific paradigms? I have a child. A sick child.

Baby girl got a stomach virus from a friend of hers yesterday. It's a particular nasty one. One that apparently causes no other effect than vomiting. She doesn't look sick...she's still happy...she seems totally normal. Until the flood gates of hell open.

Maybe you can explain this to me -- she ate two jars of baby food for dinner (one peas, one prunes and apples...basically, her and anyone in a Sunrise Assisted Living have the same diet). Before bed she had 2 ounces of formula before falling asleep mid bottle. In the middle of the night, she "produced" roughly one and a half gallons of regurgitation.

Let's see how this works:
FO = Formula
P = Peas
PrA = Prunes and Apples
V = Vomit

2FO + 1P + 1PrA = 12V(2FO+1P+1PrA)

See....it's not balanced. Matter was created. The universe is clearly out of balance. I can only assume that to account for this, a star went nova somewhere.

Hate is a strong word

2009-01-22T05:54:00.000-08:00

This isn't an after school special, don't worry.

The best part of reading all the books about parenting is that I kept thinking to myself "That's not gonna happen to me". Like when it said you'd gain weight cause you eat just like your pregnant wife. I thought to myself "C'mon, I have self control". 3 months and 25 lbs later...I think they were right.

But it wasn't until yesterday that one of the more concerning parts of the books hit home. Let me go chick for a second and tell you the background story....work was stressful, with the threat of layoffs and other cutbacks. I have a cold, so I'm grumpy. I'm chilled to the bone from working outside. I walk in the door, and my smiling baby suddenly hates me. She won't sit still with me - she won't let me feed her...for all intents and purposes she was throwing me a HUGE "F you, daddy".

Now, when you've had a rough day, you can't help but take it a little harder than usual...and quickly sadness turns into anger. The books warned me. But I didn't listen. They said there would be days when I'd wish I wasn't home..when I didn't want to be around baby. I didn't believe them. How could anyone not want to be around their kid? Well, yesterday, I understood.

Most of you out there know what I mean, but there are some who are doing exactly what I did 9 months ago...thinking "what a jerk...he just doesn't know how to handle it".

The emotional roller coaster you're riding as a parent is whacky...and within ten minutes of her falling asleep, I stood over her crib completely having forgot how miserable I was earlier. I know she didn't mean anything by it..she, like me, just wasn't feeling well.

So, I guess my point is this - the books are written by people who have been there before and know what they're doing...despite the fact that we think they have no clue. Basically...they're our parents.

What's left?!

2009-01-20T05:10:00.000-08:00

Our kids are growing up in amazing times. The first African American President. Information about ANYTHING instantly available if you've got an internet connection. The Red Sox won the World Series. The beginning of globally sympathetic building / energy practices.

What's left? Really....what monumentus step remains? Flying cars? Alien contact? Cold Fusion? Completely straight boy bands? A Lions Super Bowl win?

Ever since I was a kid, I believed I'd live through some sort of Apocolyptic event. Maybe it was too many 80s movies about War with Russia or Alien attacks. Part of me thought maybe September 11th was that event. Then I thought maybe it was today, the swearing in of Barack Obama and the potential for disaster that 2 million people and 4000 toilets leads to. But, still, I don't feel like I've lived through that world changing event.

Whatever it is - one thing keeps playing over and over in my mind; I'm 60 years old, trying to play video games with my 30 year old and he's laughing uncontrollably at how I can't grasp it. Then, I get frustrated and say "Back in my day, you had to use your HANDS to play video games!"

Then I get in my hover car, tell my personal robot to take me home, and fall asleep in my underwater apartment in the Bahamas. (it's not my fault, I fell asleep watching 'Brink' last night on Discovery)

So, i look to you, friends. What's left?

Crawl Ball = Crawl Bawl

2009-01-16T17:52:00.000-08:00

Those who are not parents assume Crawl Ball is a testicular disorder. Amazingly, it's not on Urban Dictionary yet, but I have a feeling after this post, it will be.

Crawl Balls (stop chuckling) are an ingenious product. They are the manifestation of parenting at it's purest form; deception. Near as I can tell, parenting is about constantly fooling children. Bottles, formula, wraps - all designed to fool babies. The Crawl Ball is the same.

You know the old scam where you tie fishing line to a 5 dollar bill and pull it away when someone tries to pick it up? The same concept is applied here. Your child enjoys playing with a toy...then it moves away from them. It's supposed to encourage them to "chase after it". Hence the name.

For those of us with children who aren't quite ready to crawl, the Crawl Ball serves another purpose -- totally pissing them off.

They're sitting there, enjoying a very annoying song and light show and suddenly, off the entertainment goes. Now, the ball only makes it about 8 inches away. But that's 1/2 an inch out of reach. At first, baby is intrigued and leans forward to get it. When she can't reach it however, it goes from being an entertaining toy to the forbidden fruit. Usually, there's a series of straining, reaching, grunting, and then fussing.

If you're REALLY lucky they'll try to lean so much that they'll fall over and faceplant into the carpet. And while they're laying there crying, the Crawl Ball will lazily dance and sing around the world mocking them.

For you dads, the Crawl Ball is a great analogy for dating in high school. This object dances around in front of you, beckoning for your attention. Then, just as you pursue, the object runs away; just out of reach. Still making the noise and attracting attention but making sure you know you'll never be good enough to catch it.

I'm throwing that damn thing out tomorrow.

Thought it was a booger, but it's snot

2009-01-13T17:13:00.000-08:00

We were unbelievably lucky in that Sugar Bear has not been sick for 6 and a half months. That all changed today.

I've seen the Facebook stati (can you tell I took Latin?) of friends with babies that say "...wishes Kelly wasn't sick" or "...feels so sad about Ty not feeling well". I didn't really pay them much attention except to be thankful. But I now join an elite club of people who have a sick child. And it's terrible.

So, at about this point, you're feeling pretty good as a Dad. The constant fear that baby is going to be killed by life's every day activities has started to wane. She's sleeping...she's eating...she's starting to crawl. Oh, joyous life!

Then...you're house is invaded by the Germ Army. And Sugar Bear didn't stand a chance.

Now, when you're sick, you probably just want to be left alone. So does the baby...only she needs her mommy and daddy to make her feel better. She doesn't know what's going on - she doesn't know why she's feeling this way. And to see her so upset is agony. She has only slept in 20 minute bursts...cried in 45 minute bursts...and released more snot than I have ever seen in my life.

Holding her is like being caught in a hurricane of nasty. A crying, sneezing, snotty baby saturates your clothes with every fluid imagineable. I actually found myself looking forward to the diaper change, as it meant I could lather myself in antibiotic gel.

For all those out there who have had a sick child, I now have an unparalleled amount of respect for you. Because me and Sugar Bear's white blood cells are both getting their ass kicked.

Houston, we have Lift Off

2009-01-10T09:59:00.000-08:00

I'm going to share a little secret with you; I'm a Jedi. With this comes many talents, including super human reflexes. It's borderline being psychic. Even a Jedi, however, can be surprised. And it was Sugar Bear who exploited one of my weaknesses.

Sunday morning, 5:45 am.

Sugar Bear decided she wanted to get up a couple hours early on Sunday. My wife gets up with her on Saturdays and let's me sleep in - I get up on Sundays. After the bottle, SB sat on the couch next to me playing with some toys while I sleepily sipped some coffee.

With the explosive acceleration only seen in NASA engineering, she fired head first off the couch. For less than a heartbeat she was Superwoman. Arms out, legs straight; totally parallel to the floor. And then.....the ugly force of Gravity took over. Her oversized infant head acted like an anvil in a Bugs Bunny commercial. Sugar Bear was going down.

My reflexes slightly dulled by sleep deprivation, I managed only to grab her feet. If she was two inches shorter, it would have been my greatest catch this side of my Adult Softball League. Sadly.....she's grown.

The sound that came next was simultaneously a "thud" and a wail.

Houston, Sugar Bear is down. Repeat, Sugar Bear is down.

As a Dad, it's heartbreaking to see your baby in total shock and pain; crying uncontrollably. She was actually so upset that for a time she was so busy screaming she forgot to breath. I had to use the old "blow in her face" technique.

Part of me felt intense guilt, part of me intense relief. Finally, she'd had that first "fall". And rather then immediately freaking out, rushing to the hospital, and wondering if she's going to make it....I calmly picked her up - told her everything was ok and comforted her.

Then I spent 2 hours online researching infant concussions, brain damage, and the psychological effects. Hey, I didn't TOTALLY freak out.

New Years with the Tax Break

2009-01-04T17:24:00.000-08:00

Everyone loves to tell you how different your life is going to be at various stages. "Just wait until you're married" or "You'll see once you have kids!" -- these are the phrases people love to hurl at you in what psychologists call "Misplaced Anger".

Now, I'm one of those "It'll never happen to me" people. As a matter of fact, I'm just this side of "I left the iron on? I'm sure it'll be fine." So, naturally, when someone tells me my life is going to change dramatically I usually give them the polite "oh, I know...ha ha" - (never a third "ha", they'll realize I'm not sincere) - and I go about my business.

But this week it really hit me that life, she is-a changing.

One could argue that it started right at 12:00 am, January 1, 2009. Instead of searching for my wife to kiss, both my wife and I were tip toeing into our room to kiss a sleeping Sugar Bear and wish her a Happy New Year. No text messaging friends, no drunken "I love you'' phone calls...just hovering over a sleeping baby. Not that there's anything wrong with that - it just made me realize that things were changing.

About 2 hours later, I was in bed....NOT getting any New Years loving. I did, however, get a few New Years "You're snoring's".

But even that didn't quite drive the point home. No, it came at a very odd time. Sitting around a frozen pond in the Shenandoah....the sun beating down...the crisp clean air washing over me, I took time to look around and drink in the experience. And that's when I noticed how odd the scene would look to a passerby. There I was, sitting on a picnic table, an ice cold Miller Lite in my hand. To my right was Eric, wearing his sleeping son in a baby bjorn. To my left, Mark cradling his baby girl in his arms. And all three of us attempting to throw larger and larger stones through the ice of the pond.

Like school girls, we giggled every time a stone bounced across the pond failing to break through. Eric had managed to adapt his throwing technique brilliantly to compensate for the 15 lb counterweight on his chest.

A few times, Mark recognized the seriousness of the situation, and handed his daughter to me while he dug up a 20 lb rock to chuck onto the pond.

The girls were drunk by noon, sleeping by 3, hungover by 6.

Then came the evening....the first day of 2009 - nowhere to go, no job, no school, no responsibilities the next day.

We were all in bed by 9:30.

We're officially, without question, and without excuse - PARENTS.

Missing in Action

2009-01-03T20:13:00.000-08:00

Friends, I need your help. It seems one of our own has gone missing! That's right, Mark Amadeus Obama has gone missing. As you can see his last post was sometime when the Dow was over 10,000 and there was a white man in the Oval Office.

He's about 6 feet all, but usually slouches. Brownish grey hair, blue eyes. Smells vaguely of yesterday's tuna salad and coors light. Possible hang out locations; alternative lifestyle bars or any eating establishment that still uses the "spork".

Lost spotted wearing jeans and a shirt with hemmed sleeves to make his biceps look bigger. He also had a Redskins hat on to cover an increasingly noticeable bald spot.

Any information, please email us...his marginally funny posts have been missed by at least 1 member of his family.

Please help us find our sweet prince

Burpy Cloth, is there Nothing you can't Do?!

2008-12-29T07:03:00.000-08:00

You know, diapers get all the credit around the house. They're like the quarterback of the baby accessory world. Burpy Cloth, you're the offensive line. Without you, the diaper wouldn't be able to claim nearly the recognition.

See, Burpy Cloth, you're always there for me. And you're not just responsible for one area; you take care of everything. Leaky bottle - burpy cloth will clean that spill. Projectile vomiting? Whose the first one I look for - you, BC. Whether it's spit up, snot, drool, tears, coffee, urine, stool spatter, even the occasional "unknown", you're my go to!

When I'm frantically searching the living room during a RSUI (Random Spit Up Incident), seeing you on the couch cushion is like spotting an oasis in the desert. Being able to throw you over my shoulder before I dare even pick baby girl up is the way I imagine a police officer feels putting on his bullet proof vest. It's seemingly invincible protection.

Just like a bullet proof vest, you're designed to take the brunt of the impact. I can make all the preperations I want, but sometimes, quite literally, shit happens. And you're there. My guardian, my saviour, my absorbant layer of unbiased protection.

Now, look, between you and me - there isn't a shirt I own that is important enough NOT to get thrown up on. But you don't care. You're there for me no matter what. You don't care what bodily fluid I throw at you. And, I'll admit, I've blown my nose with you once or twice...I've used you to wipe up my coffee spill; hell, I think I've even used you to dry my hands one time; but did you complain about it? Did you refuse to help out? No. You did your job. And after a few days of sitting there, when your surface starts to feel like toast; you take the trip through the washer and dryer - and come out ready to tackle the next liquid lunch without hesitation.

God Bless You, Burpy Cloth, you know not what you do!

Call me Melancholy!

2008-12-24T18:41:00.000-08:00

Every year at this time, I mentally make note of all the things I'm thankful for and the people who I am most appreciative of. We men are not good with feelings - so here is your opportunity whether outwardly or anonymously, to tell those you love how you feel about them.

Feel free to leave a message to anyone in the comments section.

To my wife; I love you more than life itself. You have given me the greatest gift; our daughter. And though it may not seem it at times, I know that I absolutely could not live without you. You fill in for all that which I am lacking. I love you - I need you - and I appreciate you; even if I don't say it.

2009 will be a great year for us as we get to experience a whole new life with our daughter. And June Bug - I love you so much too!

Ok, Sing-A-Long Toy, We Get It

2008-12-22T07:19:00.000-08:00

Continuing our "Looking Back at '08", I'd like to talk to you, Mr. Sing-A-Long Dog Toy. You and your kind (that's right, i said it) are all the same. You start out all cute, with your addictive songs and your reassuring voice but inevitably you end up annoying the hell out of us.

That's enough. We get it. Yes, 8 still comes after 7. But you want to know a secret? There's alot more to the human body than just a head, some shoulders, two knees and some toes. As a matter of fact, I'd say those aren't even the most important parts. And your heart isn't supposed to be on the outside of your body. Ok, I'm not trying to get personal here, but I need you to understand where I'm coming from.

And don't think I don't know what you're doing with that hair trigger on/off button. A mouse sneezes next door and suddenly you're bellowing out "Itsy Bitsy Spider". Psychiatrists call that

irascibility. No, it's a real world. Look, I don't want to get into this with you right now - I'm just trying to prove a point.

It wasn't all bad, we had good times. You made the baby stop crying quite a bit, and you definitely held her attention. But there's only so many times I can be caught at work singing "There's a Great Big Colorful World Out There". Really, dear, it's not you....it's me. I just can't handle the kind of committment this relationship takes. I'm not ready. You're in my head all day long and I can't have that.

This isn't easy for me, you know. I'm going to hear those songs you sing for a long time after this relationship ends. And I'll probably sing them now and then. Worse, I bet I'll see someone else with you down the road, and that's not something I'm prepared to worry about right now.

Look, you knew what this was. You're a starter toy. There's a reason we never gave you a name. It's easier this way. Sooooooo, we've got your email........and............be good.

Ode to the Baby Wipe

2008-12-21T11:20:00.001-08:00

Baby Wipe, this has been a tough year for us, but you've always come through.

Regardless of the medium, I could always count on you to perform -- plastic, wood, vinyl, ass. We spent alot of time in the trenches (literally) and I owe you one.

You weren't like those tissues and their union, always ready to say "that's not my job" or "sorry, don't do that - union rules". No, you reported to duty, crossed the picket line, rolled up your sleeves and got right to it.

There were times, I admit, when I doubted we'd be successful. Remember her first time eating strained vegetables? I sent many a wipe to the slaughter that day, but not one of them complained about it. You did your job, and you did your job well.

I owe you an apology, too - occasionally, I left the top open and one of your boys was wasted shamefully by drying out. I'm sorry. You earned alot more respect than that, and I should have delivered. You didn't even complain when, in emergencies, I just opened the whole box and grabbed you by the handful - foregoing your typical one at a time dispensing method. Again - never a complaint.

You saved my ass by cleaning hers this year - and I look forward to serving with you in 2009. It's going to be a hard road as we approach solid foods, illness, and the inevitable undiapered release....but I don't fear, friend; for I have you, the ultimate ally!

It'd Be Easier If She Spoke

2008-12-19T16:22:00.000-08:00

What's with the Geico sign, Billy Jean?

Ask any married person what the most important part of the relationship is communication. (Ask anyone who is single what the most important part of the relationship and, once they stop laughing, will say Happy Hour).

The best part of having a 6 month old is that sudden, seemingly random crying fits can be caused one of a thousand different things. Growth spurt, teething, cold, infection, hunger, sleepiness, pissed-off-edness...whatever she feels like.

Now, I doubt I'm the first, and I sure as hell won't be the last, Dad who ran out of patience and just started begging his infant to speak. I believe my exact words were, "Honey, just tell me what you want!!!!" Somehow, my brain ignored logic and assumed if I asked enough times, my six month old would suddenly speak just because I couldn't figure it out.

So, it got me to thinking....what if babies were born with the ability to speak. (here is where Honeysuckle Von Cloth Diaper starts telling us that 'all babies can speak, you just don't know how to listen'. Get a life, hippie).

Imagine how different some of the things we do every day with our babies would be. Don't ask me why, but nudity would suddenly seem inappropriate, wouldn't it? Maybe it's the fear of her saying something like "Dad, why isn't mom fat like you and me" or "The guy who comes over while you're at work looks different then you" -- things of that nature.

Forget that you're entire language would have to change. No more phrases like "Wow, she shit all over herself" or "These fuckin Wal Mart brand diapers are worthless". Let's not forget how horrible it would be if she ratted you out to Mother In Law; informing her you "Don't give a damn about her advice, alot has changed in 30 years". How about baby telling the doctor how you dropped her once...that would be fun.

I guess what I'm saying is - the grass is always greener on the other side. As much as I'd love Sugar Bear to tell me what's wrong mid-tantrum; I'm thinking that ignorance is bliss.

Have to run now - time to go have Wii Fit destroy any self confidence I had by pointing out that I weigh as much as a chinese family and work one tenth as hard. (I believe this is step one in their conquest of the United States - next will be "2 for 1 General Tso's" night countrywide to coordinate with a decreaes in toilet paper production)

The G Shot

2008-12-13T07:45:00.001-08:00

So I mentioned that God has a sense of humor. And, in His infinite power, he likes to have a little fun now and then. Alot of you are discounting this right now, but I have an example you'll be hard pressed to dismiss; Gravity.

Right now Gravity is the bane of any new parent's existence. Simultaneously, it is also an endless source of hilarity. I can prove that - click here. It's a progressive scale, you see. In the beginning, you're always afraid you're going to drop your newborn. Watching two people hand off a newborn to one another reminds me of an egg walk in which one million dollars is at stake.

If Nerf was smart, they'd get into the interior design business. There isn't a parent out there that wouldn't want the full Nerf Living Room collection; floor, coffee table, couch...everything. The stress level in the house would immediately plummet 40%, I promise.

As baby gets older - and has hit the ground a couple times - you'll start to realize that Gravity becomes more an inconvenience than a mortal fear. You drop the bottle, the toy, the remote - anything out of reach while you're holding a sleeping baby and suddenly you're cursing like Andrew Dice Clay. Parents know what I mean - walking across a room with a sleeping baby, only 2 steps from the couch and you drop the burp clothe on the ground is like dropping the winning lottery ticket down the sewer outside the 7-11. It's not fair...it's....it's just not fair.....you were so close........it's.....it's not fair.

Baby gets even older and then you're not worried about dropping him/her or his/her things...instead YOU'RE the one tripping over the toy and face planting every other day. In a fit of rage, I could give Beckham a run for his money with the way I kicked Sugar Bear's toy across the living room after tripping on it.

Just remember - Gravity is God's way of reminding you that he's in control and can hurt or embarrass you at any time. And, thanks to YouTube, as soon as you take that bad step off the curb - 3 million people will be able to watch it and laugh.

Unhung Hero

2008-12-11T17:03:00.000-08:00

"And what he hath scanted men in hair he hath given them in wit" ~ DROMIO OF SYRACUSE

Let me tell you about our boy Eric. His resume lists him as a "good multitasker" which just means he distracts easily and can't finish anything. It also says he's a "proven telecommuter"; he always remembers to mute Price is Right while on conference calls.

In his personal life people describe him as a "good friend" (not a "great" friend because you can't borrow money from him). People often say he's "fun to be around" which translates to "drinks too much".

But that's not why I'm impressed and look up to him. It's because he is doing something that I don't believe I could ever do. He's going to Grad school, working, and helping his wife care for their 2 month old all at the same time. I barely have the energy to work and help out at home, and he's piling two full days of 8 hour long classes on top of it all. He gives up his entire Saturday, one of the two days that he doesn't have to work, to sit in a classroom and try not to nod off. Me, I guarantee I'd be asked to leave for snoring mid-lesson.

My man gives up Thursday night poker, Saturday football and beer, and Friday night stupidity for Grad School classes. And when he's done with his homework, he gets to change a diaper, grab a few hours of sleep, and then head out to work.

So, raise a beer to all those Dads out there who can juggle the responsibilities of taking care of family today, while making arrangements for a better life later on down the line.

Golden boy? Hell, E is halfway to Platinum if you ask me.

Tooth Hurty AM

2008-12-10T09:58:00.000-08:00

It's been 5 months since little mini-you has arrived. You've finally started to figure things out. You even have a routine.

Simply by dipping your hand into the tub, you can tell the precise temperature of the water. Diapers can be changed with one hand in less than 10 seconds. Holding your breath for minutes on end while changing said diaper is commonplace. Your skills at palming a dropped toy before it hits the ground have reached their zenith. You've even started to get enough sleep that you're mildly attracted to your wife again. So, of course, you had to know something was about to screw it all up, right?

Teething. It's a word that strikes fear into even the most superior parents (like myself). Baby is simply trying to live life - exploring the world, eating, sleeping, completely content. Life is good for him/her. Things are starting to make sense. And then....the pain.

You'll notice something is amiss when your child drools so much that there is not an article of clothing or blanket that isn't saturated in saliva. Then comes the finger biting. A vicious double edged sword. Biting makes it feel good...until the tooth pops out, and then she's crying because she just bit her finger with her new tooth.

The human body is a mystery, that's for sure. It's processes work slowly, but purposefully. I haven't cheered for a horse race as loud as I was cheering for that damn tooth to break through the gum. Once it breaks the gums, it's sweet relief for baby...no more hurting, no more fussing, just joyful uninterrupted sleep for all.

Except, of course, that trouble often comes in twos. As do teeth. So, when you see the snail trail of drool leading to baby's location and the inevitable bright red cheeks...you know the Calcium Crusader has called for reinforcements.

There are plenty of things out there you can give baby - herbal, generic baby tylenol, teether, cold teether, hard teether, soft teether, wet rag, dry rag, her finger, your finger, anything that'll give her some brief relief.

Soon, you will realize that God has a sense of humor. He chooses to exercise it now and again as a not-so-gentle reminder that he owns you. Just as he giveth, he taketh away.

Don't believe me? Perhaps the next post will prove it to you....

Where y'at?

2008-12-04T17:15:00.000-08:00

I'm sure this blog rates for you somewhere between repeats of Dharma & Greg and changing the cat litter. Both of which, by the way, are funnier. But if you're out there and you're enjoying this, shoot me an email, leave a comment, anything. Otherwise, I'm going to just go back to sitting on the couch, staring into space, wondering what phrase people used before there actually was sliced bread?

Alot of things happen that I feel are worthy of writing about, but just wouldn't fill up a whole post. So, I've decided to list a few of the little blurbs for your enjoyment.

I witnessed my daughter poke herself in the eye.......with her big toe! Sure, as her father, I should have consoled her or at least made sure her eye was ok - but I was too busy laughing. It was simultaneously hysterical and mind boggling - either she's going to be a gymnastics guru or she's just a little mentally challenged.

Currently, three hydrostatic engineers are attempting to figure out how my daughter can pee all over the changing table and not a drop hit the diaper that's directly underneath her. I'm almost fully convinced that the laws of physics do not apply to baby evacuations.

Superstition you might call it - but I genuinely believe that the Redskins have lost their last few games because RC didn't wear her Redskins cheerleader outfit and MW wasn't laying on her lucky Redskins blanket.

There are points in the day when I am actually sad over the fact that I haven't played MarioKart Wii online against Mark, Eric and Jeff for almost 6 months now. It used to be my sole purpose for even getting up in the morning.

Poked her eye with her toe - swear to God....still one of the funniest and most bizarre things I've witnessed. Awe inspiring!

Kids are the best!

Hand Sanitizer? I Just Met Her!

2008-12-02T11:24:00.000-08:00

When your wife is pregnant, other couples love to tell you how tough it's going to be. But they do it in a manner so as not to seem like they're trying to scare you. For those of you, like Eric, who wash your hands 12 times a day, live and die by the 3 second rule, and carry around a bottle of hand sanitizer, this can be a daunting task.

You know that a newborn is, by design, very simliar to an equation. It has two functions, kind of like an equation. Something goes in one end, and comes out different on the other. Unlike an equation, however, there is no balance. She eats 4 ounces of milk, she craps out two gallons of something. In the beginning, it's odorless tar. A couple weeks later it's some sort of chemical weapon agent.

Prior to the baby being born, I was very nervous about "catching something". I always washed my hands when I got home from work; I annoyed my wife with questions like "is this cooked enough" and "it says it goes bad tomorrow, is it ok to drink?". I had gotten food poisoning once in my life and it was the worst experience. As a result, the thought of holding something that was going to drool, vomit, pee, and shizznit all over me at any moment wasn't a pleasant one.

So, you can imagine my shock when, only recently, I caught myself doing some of the strangest things without a second thought. First, when I wasn't sure whether or not the baby had a dirty diaper, I caught myself actually sticking my finger down into the diaper to check. When my finger came back looking like a pretzel stick, I knew she had, indeed, filled the diaper.

Secondly, it became evident that our daughter loved it when you pretended to bite her hands and made a growling noise. Inconceivably, I found msyelf putting 3 of her saliva soaked digits in my mouth and growling stupidly while she laughed. Somewhere, subconsciously, my mind recognized the taste of stale formula and chinese paint...but it didn't stop me.

Lastly, as most of us dads do, I decided it would be fun to throw baby up into the air a few times. And i was right, it was fun....until the bottle she'd drank 30 minutes earlier came up in what appeared to be an oatmeal tidal wave. It struck me somewhere on the cheek and cascaded down my chin, neck, shirt and stomach. The Anthony of 2 years ago would have either a) thrown up himself, b) ran screaming from the room like a little girl or c) passed out at this point. The Anthony of today spoke quickly out of the (dry) side of his mouth and simply said "Hen hyou het me a howel or a hurp coth pwease. She jus pat up all ober me"

My point is this; you're going to hear alot of nightmare stories before baby comes along. Some people are going to tell them as this sort of 'doom and gloom' deal. Some are going to be bragging about how much they've had to put up with and others are just going to tell the stories for what they are -- friggin hilarious! Admit it, picturing a guy get barfed on, for you, was funny. And looking back, it was. When she peed on my sister - it was funny. When she has an explosion and there is recycled formula all the way up her back - it's gross....unless you're NOT the one changing the diaper, then it's hilarious again.

Keep it all in perspective, people. Everyone, everywhere, has had a case of the mud butt. And everyone has at least one hysterical story about having to go to the bathroom. Babies are no different.

Car Pay Diem

2008-11-27T11:54:00.000-08:00

In honor of Thanksgiving - I've decided to let you expectant dads in on yet another joy of owning a small human being; travel. For this post, we'll concentrate on car journeys. Now, many a new parent will tell you that a car journey is not the same as a car trip. See, you can take a trip to the store. Or a trip to the coffee shop. A car journey is one that lasts more than one hour, and should, but is not limited to, the use of at least one interstate.

There are so many factors that go into this, that the day before said car trip feels more like June 5th, 1944. As you'll learn; any trip requires packing at least one and a half car loads of gear, but it's all about placement.

For argument's sake, let's say you're traveling with your significant other and the baby. You are in the driver's seat, Mom in the passenger seat, and baby in the car seat. (During an argument, I told Mom she might want to sit in the car seat at which point she suggested what I might want to do with said car seat). Driver, aka Pilot, bears the responsibility of maintaining control of the vehicle. As such, he needs easy access to all essential components; steering wheel, gear shift, mirrors, etc. He's already operating at a disadvantage given that the back window is NO DOUBT blocked by the mountain of aforementioned gear. He is Lt. Pete Mitchell.

Mom is co-pilot - navigator, if you will. Her responsibilities are many. She is to ensure the driver is hydrated properly, should control temperature settings as requested by Maverick, should control radio settings as instructed by Maverick, and is to administer directions when asked for (and ONLY when asked for). Here is a good time to point out that radio should refer to some sort of mp3 player. Mom is in charge of necessary music should Baby become fussy.

Shuttle launches don't have as elaborate preparation schedules as parents about to take a trip. After feeding the baby, and burping him/her, new parents know you have exactly 3 to 7 minutes to get baby into the car seat, and into the car. This will ensure that the vibration and rhythmic motions of the car coupled with a full belly should lull baby to sleep.

Should this happen, it's time to kick the tires and light the fires. Don't waste time planning the best route, or stopping for gas. If you don't have the trip mapped and the jet fueled, you're already dead so just stay home.

If baby doesn't go to sleep within the first 3 miles of the car journey, you've got a decision to make. Does co-pilot move to the back seat? As God is my witness, this decision is one that will determine whether or not you make it. Choose wisely. Co-pilot, operating from the rear, cannot control temps or music, which falls to Pilot, but she'll be able to entertain / put baby to sleep. This, above all else, is priority.

Regardless of the journey's length, these rules will determine if you survive:

1) Regardless of trip length, if baby is asleep there will be absolutely NO bathroom stops.

2) Under NO circumstance should either party sing, speak, or otherwise make noise unless absolutely necessary. Directions should be given in Navy SEAL hand signal or equivalent

3) Police understand that a sleeping baby is grounds for traffic law breakage; do as you wish

4) Road rage must be curbed at all costs. I know he cut you off, but he's not going to have the wrath of a screaming baby to deal with if you scream out the window where he should go with his BMW.

There are many more, but this should get you started for now. Give your heart to God, friend, cause that baby already owns your ass.

Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Wilson

The 8% Dad

2008-11-25T16:45:00.000-08:00

It's not 1950, but my wife and I decided before having children that she would stay home and I would continue to work. We both grew up in homes where our mothers stayed home, so it wasn't much of a decision.

Having spent a week as Mr. Mom, I definitely understand that while my wife isn't working, she's working. But for dads, there is an interesting dynamic that presents itself in the early months.

See, I get home from work about 5 - 5:30. Sugar Bear goes to bed at 7:30. That means, best case scenario, I get about two and a half hours with her. Bear in mind, in that two and a half hours there's a whole bedtime routine; dinner, bath time, bottle and story, then sleep.

If, for any reason, I have to work late -then it's entirely possible I can miss seeing her altogether. The feeling is hard to describe; it's kind of a combination of guilt and sadness. First off, you feel like you're sticking mom with all the responsibilities. Secondly, you can't help but hear "Cats in the Cradle" playing in the background.

So, when work is getting hectic and it looks like you're going to have to put in extra hours, it's not surprising when we new dads aren't exactly thrilled about it. Yet, as the only one working, we're LESS thrilled about the idea of losing our job...hence the stress. Couple all that with a tanking economy, and it's no wonder that many an hour is spent staring at the bedroom ceiling, worrying and wondering.

HELP WANTED; UPS / FEDEX SORTER

2008-11-19T05:56:00.000-08:00

If you walk into my living room right now it looks like the packing yard of a FedEx. There are boxes stored practically to the ceiling with all of all our new baby equipment. Experts say that if you take your child's height at 2 years old and double it, you will get their anticipated height at adulthood. To put that in perspective, they're saying that your child does HALF their growing in the first 2 years of life. Meaning, an almost constant size upgrade to anything you purchase.

As we new parents will tell you, about 2 days after you buy your child a booster seat or car seat or new toy, they've outgrown it, it's broken, or it's been recalled due to questionable Chinese manufacturing techniques.

Some of you expectant parents out there are saying "Anthony, you're exaggerating". Hahaha...your ignorance amuses me.

Just to give you an idea of what you're in for -- when you walk into my house you'll immediately whack your shin on the half constructed stroller. No, no, no, not the 600 dollar, better than my pickup truck off road one -- the new, 150 dollar Toys R Us "cheap one" we use for walks around the neighborhood, running quickly into stores, and leave at Grandma's house. It's easier to throw in and out of the car. Speaking of car....after you're done rubbing your shin a la Peter Griffin, you'll walk directly into a stack of three other boxes.

Box # 1 is the new car seat, designed to handle a child of generous proportions (pronounced chubster). The switch out occurs circa 5 months, but depending on if your wife is producting 2% or half and half, it can vary. Box # 2 is the booster seat. It's like a high chair, but it fits over existing chairs through an elaborate series of pullies and winches. This will be left at the house of a grandparent so as to save us from renting the 53' box trailer again. Box 3, our most recent purchase, is the bouncy seat. For those who don't know what this is, it's basically a Sumo Wrestler's diaper that you set your child in, attach to a questionable piece of door trim and encourage them to bounce up and down. As a side note, it's best to have them on carpet for their feet, and also to soak up the inevitable vomit spew that comes from allowing a child to bounce up and down while spinning slightly.

As we approach the holidays, I recommend laying out a schedule of items you'll need over the next two months (this should only take up 8 to 12 sheets of double sided legal paper) and encourage others to buy these for you. You should spend your money on photos of your baby which you will distribute to said relatives; cheap and easy way to get out of spending a fortune on holiday gifts - and nobody will complain to your face about recieving a picture of your child. That's unheard of.

If you're curious as to what items your child will outgrow - look up the word "everything" in the dictionary for help.

COMING THROUGH!!!

2008-11-15T09:24:00.000-08:00

Children are expensive. Whether it's the 5 to 38 diapers they go through per day, or the Pandora's cocktail of vaccinations they get the first 4 months of their life - the bank account is going to start feeling the pain. When I made a deposit at the bank the other day, the teller actually apologized to me.

Let's face it, the economy is half helping half hurting. I posted earlier that Linens N Things was on life support - and sure enough, the one by us is closing with a 70% off sale. That's a good thing. Then I check the mail and get my 401(k) statement. It came printed on toilet paper. Single ply, too.

I realized that with my 30th birthday just 359 days away, that there is a good liklihood that when they wheel out my cake, everyone will have to huddle around it for light and warmth.

So, that has lead me to look for alternative sources of income. I am a homebuilder, so helping friends and family with home improvements is the first option. After that, I've been looking into donation of blood, semen, plasma, fat, and hair. Surprisingly, WebMD doesn't tell you much about survival with one kidney, one lung, one eye, and one ear. And get this - I called the place that took my appendix out 17 years ago -- and apparently they don't keep them. Nor are they worth anything.

But one of the most lucrative options struck me as I was waiting in line at Chipotle; literally. The woman behind me, with her stroller gave me the Iraqi tailgate. See, in other countries, apparently, pushing someone in a line is a way of saying "move up, please". The fact that she did it with the stroller was brilliant. See, it strikes you right at the back of the knee, half buckling your legs so you can't defend well against it. And when you turn around, your facing a morbidly obese Spanish toddler with what appears to be a McDonald's wrapper ketchuped to his forehead. And it got me thinking..........

Strollers are the ultimate plow -- four wheels of stability, non corrosive plastic construction, and if you head directly at someone with it they are guaranteed to move. Our social consciousness of children overwhelms our feeling of "i'm in the right". Inevitably, the stroller ends up looking like Moses parting the Red Sea.

And so, as the weather starts to change, I'm offering my services up. Need a sidewalk plowed? Need a path cleared through a crowd? Want to annoy an ex standing in line? I'm your man. My baby and I, coupled with our Uppa Baby stroller can do it all.

Training Daze

2008-11-10T18:23:00.000-08:00

Few people know that certain every day situations actually train us to be parents long before it's even something we're considering. The most obvious is pet ownership.

Own a fish? Congratulations, you're learning interaction with a creature that knows your existence only as food provider and noise maker. Newborn baby sees you as the same.

Own a dog? You're learning how to put a living being on a schedule. You're learning the importance of paying attention to signs like "need to go out" and "I'm hungry" or "scared". Toddler training.

Own a cat? You've learned the importance of caring for a creature who has come to expect that you live to serve it. Moreover, it barely cares that you're alive other than it is easier to have you annoy it than it is to kill you. Teenager training.

Not a pet owner? No worries - you're being trained also. Do you have a boss, that no matter what you do, you can't seem to please? Do you have a coworker who seems annoyed at the slightest sound, scent, or temperature adjusment in the office? Know someone who gets unbelievably cranky when they don't eat? You've practically got a kid.

Wife have the jimmy leg and wakes you up every 2 hours at night? If you've ever had to pack for a 7+ day vacation you know what it's like to prepare for a 15 minute car ride with an infant.

Ever unwrapped and rewrapped a birthday present in less than 10 seconds? How about holding your breath for more than 2 minutes? Successfully tied Diapers will be no problem for you.

So you expectant fathers out there -- don't panic just yet. You've actually been trained sufficiently for your upcoming mission as a man servant.

Infant Swimming Resource

2008-11-09T07:14:00.000-08:00

The Infant Swimming Resource (ISR) teaches infants as young as 6 months how to survive if they fall into water by floating and calling for help. Check out this link which shows the technique www.childdrowningprevention.com/index.html - its amazing.
There is a link to the IRS website on there too, they have classes in Northern Virginia however be aware that the cost is $500-$600. Even if that sounds too expensive you have to watch this video link, its fascinating.

Balancing Risk and Reward

2008-11-08T09:00:00.001-08:00

Stock Market? No, afraid not. Infants.

You expectant fathers may not know this; but newborns are......well......boring. There isn't the real "interaction" you're hoping for. They don't laugh, they don't smile...they kind of just blank stare, yawn, then fuss. So, for the first two months you're counting down until that magic 6th week. Week 6 is where alot starts to happen - from smiling to "talking" (which is just slightly disturbing grunting). Around week 8, they start being able to sit up, reach for things, even learn to bring things to their mouth!

And you're so proud....you're so excited...your baby's brain has figured out how to reach for an object, pull it back to the mouth, and use the mouth to taste and explore it. About...say...10 seconds after you swell with pride, the logical part of your brain takes over and says, "Hey, Swizzle Stick, your kid can put stuff in her mouth now - stuff she probably shouldn't".

Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

Paper - insects - clothes - blankets - toys - food - fingers - toes - utensils - pretty much anything within her tiny wingspan, she is going to attempt to shove in her mouth. Some are gross, some are dangerous, some are deadly. There goes sleep...

There seems to be balance to everything in life. For every extreme positive, there is an extreme negative. You work out, and feel great; the next day you get sore muscles. You go out and get drunk and it's great...until you wake up with a hangover. You eat your body weight in Spare Ribs...and then you spend the rest of the night wondering if you're about to check out. Your baby begins to make improvements, and your fear factor approaches maximum.

At least right now, Sugar Bear isn't mobile - but something tells me the extra weight I'm carrying around right now will start to disappear as I chase the crawling ball of curiosity around the gauntlet of dangers that is life.

Pray for me.

Something's Watching Me!

2008-11-05T16:58:00.000-08:00

Freud could have a field day with the way we new parents act. One of the most natural (and seemingly universal) behaviour is to make inanimate objects alive. This is done, in the short term, by simply giving them names. The less cretive of us assign the very original "Mr." and "Mrs.". But, gentlemen, if you're anything like me - you love competition. And this is the perfect oppurtunity to assert your dominace over the Mrs. We all know women aren't that creative when it comes to this stuff. Case in point....

My daughter loves bath time. And, like most parents, we have a ratio of roughly 34 bath toys to children. That means our tub looks more like a petting zoo than a bath. Of course, as I mentioned before, we felt obligated to name them. In true fashion, we both gave what we felt should be each character's name - and I'll let you be the judge.

Sting Ray: Mom - Rachel the Ray, Me - Steve Irwin
Penguin: Mom - Percy, Me - Penny
Shark: Mom - Hank the Hammerhead, Me - Fins
Orca: Mom - Ollie Orca, Me - Quint (Jaws Reference)
Blowfish: Mom - Brian, Me - Spike
Starfish: Mom - NOTHING, Me - Stella (too ethnic?)
Seahorse: Mom - NOTHING, Me - Ceasar
Duck 1: Mom - Deirdre, Me - Quackers
Duck 2: Mom - Dorothy, Me - Bill (get it!?)
Hippo: Mom - Harry Hippo, Me - Henry Hippo
Pig 1: Mom - Pricilla, Me - Porkchop
Pig 2: Mom - Petunia, Me - Hammy
Pig 3: Mom - Poppy, Me - Knuckles

I look forward to your responses

Nursery Style, Yo

2008-11-04T16:51:00.000-08:00

So, mom busted out the magazine with her "dream nursery" and started pointing out all the things you needed to put in it. Your wallet, recognizing it's in danger, probably made a run for the door at this point.

Look, you did all the things you were supposed to in preparing the nursery; you cleaned, you painted, you went out and bought the crib/drawers/changing station combo. You probably even went out and got the letters to hang on the wall that spell out his/her name. We all did it. But it's not until baby actually starts using the room that you stumble upon the real gems.

Below are some of the most valuable things that we didn't initially think of when putting our nursery together; and I can't imagine living without them now.

Glider -- Easy, Steve Fossett, I'm talking about the rocking chair. I promise you that if you purchase this, your mother-to-be will instantly return at least a portion of your manhood. She can nurse in the night and doze while sitting in this puppy. And, when baby is in hour 4 of a 8 hour fuss fest, the rocking motion is very soothing.

A Fan -- this isn't for temperature. Recent studies have shown the importance of air flow in a baby's room to prevent SIDS. We just put a small desktop fan on the ground in the corner to keep the air moving.

iPod -- Again, not for baby, this is for Mommy. If you were up at 4 am forced to sit in a room for 2 hours and just stare at the walls while something sucked our chest; you'd crave some music too. Buy a cheap clock radio with an iPod attachment, and you're a hero. Plus, the clock radio that you can easily read at night will be a huge help to mom.

Dimmer Switch -- Being able to dim the lights, not turn them completely off, is a God send. And trust me, Ace, they're cheap and easy to install. Most switches can accomodate a dimmer, and being able to easily raise and lower the brightness of a light while baby is dozing.

Shades -- No, your future isn't that bright. But, more than likely your new nursery is the old guest bedroom. And you probably haven't spent a night in there; so you don't know how horrid those crappy plastic venetian blinds are at keeping out sunrise. My wife and I did. Well, not us, so much as baby let us know by screaming bloody murder at 6:07 am.

Plastic Tubs -- whatever storage you THINK you need go ahead and double it. Then double it again. Plastic tubs are the best way to store all the 3 and 6 months clothes you'll get as gifts that baby won't be able to use for a while. And putting the baby clothes hamper on top of them makes it so mom doesn't have to bend over to pick up the hamper and take it to the laundry room. Or you. Cause it's 2008 and women don't exclusively do the laundry. Stupid feminism.

Heating / Air -- Again, since the new nursery is probably the old guest room, you haven't had to spend alot of time in there. It's not supposed to be too comfortable - or else "guests" become "room mates". Sure, at mid day when you're in there painting, it feels comfortable enough. Try going in during the night and checking the temp. It might surprise you. And adjusting the temperature in the room can be as easy as opening / closing the registers in that room - or checking and adjusting the dampers on your HVAC unit(s). Look online and you can find out how to do this, Bob Villa.

If you've got any tips or tricks, recommendations, or just a witty joke / pun, feel free to post in the comments section below.

WomanSpeak

2008-10-29T18:07:00.000-07:00

There have been a few posts now where I've attempted to save you from castration. This is yet another one. However, it's a bit different. I'm attempting to warn you of potential conversation pitfalls that haunt every man.

We all know that women are hard to understand. And no matter how much they may try to deny it; they are in constant competition with one another. Give them a child -- an INSTANT self confidence destroyer -- and you've got yourself a recipe for disaster. I am going to attempt, by translating some frighteningly innocent comments that are actually vicious attacks, to keep you from being caught up in the middle of a good old fashion bitch-off.

Your baby is so chunky! -- Your baby is morbidly obese and not as cute as mine

When our baby cries, we ... -- We are better parents than you

Our doctor didn't tell us that -- Your doctor is obviously a med school drop out and you're going to kill your child unless you listen to us

Do you want to hold her/him? -- If you don't hold my baby, I'll assume you hate him/her and this friendship is over

You're not breastfeeding? -- I am a superior mother than you because my baby sucks me

She's still on the pacifier? -- You are a lazy parent and your child will have an Englishman's teeth

My mother-in-law was so helpful! -- This isn't actually his baby

My husband is so good with him/her -- Not only is my baby better than yours, so is my husband

I wish my husband was more like yours! -- Go to hell you conceited slut

Natural or C-Section? -- Natural or easy, selfish, lazy way out?

You should join my mommy group! -- I would like my wolf pack of friends to help me destroy you

These are just a few examples....should you hear any of these phrases be prepared for a few things. First, an intensely fake conversation in which each compliment is met with another begrudging compliment in return. And also, for a full debrief later from your wife with sentences like "Can you believe she said...", "I should have said...", "You're an ass for not sticking up for me".

Fortunately, you can take solice in the fact that her nemisis' husband is getting the verbal migraine inducer just like you are....

Womb Service

2008-10-27T15:25:00.000-07:00

Now, almost every book you read (pronounced; your wife reads to you) says that from the very early parts of the 2nd trimester, you should be reading to your baby in the womb. There are countless books, CDs, DVDs devoted just to this one recommendation. Most books even point out a series of ground rules like "it doesn't matter what you say" or "speak in your normal voice, don't whisper". Imagine how foolish I felt when one of those same books pointed out that I didn't need to shout through a bullhorn placed between my wife's legs. And we laaaaaaaaughed....

As a man, reading about singing / speaking to my wife's stomach sturred in me a basic thought; BULLSHIT. I found it hard to believe that a conglomeration of cells floating around in a ball of liquid sandwiched between the bass drum of my wife's heart and the jet engine of her lungs could possibly be interested in what I had to say. And after a while, bitching about my wife to my unborn daughter really started to make for some awkward bedtimes.

Now, the experts swear that the baby can not only hear things going on outside, but they can identify individual voices, and even start to develop "preferences" for a song, voice, or sound. I didn't believe it....absolutely did not until tonight.

I'm holding my 4 month old who clearly wants to go to sleep...but for some reason is fighting it with all she's got. I pop on the iPod in the hopes that the sound of music will distract my brain from the horrid cramp in my arm. She's almost 17 lbs now, it's like carrying around a second penis. (sorry, ladies I'm taken).

She just won't seem to settle down....until ONE song came on. That song, as God himself will tell you when you get to the pearly gates, was designed to put living beings in an alterted state of euphoria. That song....that song is Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd. I suspected that I'd been raising a closet redneck - she drools alot, and prefers Milwaukee's Best to Formula. But, it didn't really hit me until that moment. See, I had absolutely JAMMED OUT to that song on Guitar Hero for many of the evenings she was floating around inside Mama Bear. I mean, I wailed on that sucker Rock N Roll style. Cleary the magical musical notes penetrated the amniotic fluid and put little Sugar Bear in a front row seat.

And for all of those who think I was just playing on Easy - I was playing on Medium, ok? And if you think you can take me, bring it on. I'll red, red, blue, green/yellow your ass right back to where you came from.

So, take this as a lesson, you expectant dad's out there; babies can hear you. They can even recognize when they hear the same thing OUT of the womb. And at the strangest times they'll show you this awesome talent. And you'll be sad, like me. Because you'll know that your little infant already knows how full of shit you are.

Mass Debating

2008-10-17T10:33:00.000-07:00

One of the prerequisites for being a dad is to be a man (here's where I get a bunch of pissed off emails from the lesbians). One of the prerequisites for being a man is to constantly fantasize about banging someone other than your significant other. Ladies, don't be upset, this is nothing personal. This is hardwired Evolutionary Instinct. After all, the Bible says "be fruitful, and multiply" -- it doesn't say "Find someone you will grow tired of, blast out a couple kids and then be miserable for the rest of your life."

I'd like to focus on being a man rather than a dad for this post. One of us (and I'm not going to say who but it wasn't me, Jeff or Eric) admitted to having an erotic dream about Janeane Garofalo. While we have ribbed this person unmercifully for it, I have to admit that I can respect that. Anyone who's good enough for Ben Stiller and Jerry Seinfeld is good enough for me. But this mystery person (again not me, not Jeff, not Eric), I am sure, is not alone.

As I've been home this whole week, I've had a chance to check out day time television. Let me tell you - there are alot of completely rail-able women on tv. What shocks me the most, however, is those off the beaten path (no pun intended) that kick start the synapses in your little brain.

And so, I've attached the poll (not pole) to see if I'm crazy or if I'm somewhat on point with this. Most of us will never cheat. Look, ladies, relax, do you think we'd really want to risk losing half our money just to disappoint ANOTHER woman with 5 minutes of sex and 45 minutes of crying?

If you still think it's unfair that guys think like this - remember one thing....Evolution also ensured us Dads get our imposed karma punishment. They're called daughters. We have to sit here and worry whether or not our daughter's going to be hot.

See, if she's hot - then men will OPENLY talk about the things they'd like to do to her. If she's moderately attractive, then the men will wait and talk about it only in groups over poker or beer. If she's ugly, she might be more susceptible to their advances as she's not used to male attention. You see what I'm getting at here? Jenna Jameson has a dad. Brooke Burk has a dad. Rosie O'Donnell has a dad. Which one of the three do you think sleeps best at night? Which one do you think doesn't worry about opening an adult magazine? Which one can play a round of golf with 3 friends without getting totally pissed off?

Exactly.

That's Mr. Mom to You, Pal

2008-10-16T07:09:00.000-07:00

This week I got to play Mr. Mom. Play is probably not the right term -- work as Mr. Mom would be more accurate.

I will admit that during arguments with my wife over the past two months, I'd often hear the sentence "What the hell do you do all day?!" or "It's not like you're that busy here all day with the baby" -- running through my head. Now, I am smart enough not to allow such phrases to pass my lips or else I'd be playing Mr. Alternating Weekends Mom....but I must say, and I absolutely hate that I'm even committing to this in writing; this stay at home business ain't easy.

Now, bearing in mind that most "Stay At Home" Moms actually spend most of their day doing anything to GET OUT of the home, I'm going to stick with the SAH phrase anyway.

The hardest part of being the stay a home parent (even if it's just for this week) is that I didn't realize how difficult some of the most trivial tasks are when it's just you and the baby. I've listed them below:

Taking a Shower -- Ever taken a shower with the curtain completely open? Probably not (at least not by yourself, right....hey yo!). I had to put bebe in the bouncy seat on the floor of the bathroom and then stand there in the shower half watching her, half trying to keep as much water from splashing out as possible. It absolutely has to be illegal for a 29 year old, moderately overweight man to dance naked to "Three Blind Mice" in front of his 4 month old. I was certain a Child Services agent was going to repel through my sky light and cuff me.

Hitting the head -- Our daughter is in that "Grapefruit on a Toothpick" stage where she flings her head one way and the rest of her soon follows. So, she can't really be left alone anywhere off the ground. The extra strong cup of coffee and bran cereal I crushed for breakfast lead to an interesting adventure. Sitting in the bathroom, expelling what felt like a wiffle ball bat as my daughter sat watching from her bouncy seat in the hallway was probably more damaging psychologically to me than to her.

Talking on the phone -- holding 16 pounds of wriggling baby while trying to talk on the phone is a pain in the ass. The phone falls off your sweaty slick cheek / shoulder hold at least 12 times. And it's an absolutely certainty that somewhere in the conversation, your baby is going to throw up on you. Trust me on this.

Going anywhere -- Heading out to tailgate at Skins games requires less packing than a 20 minute run to the damn store. Diaper bag, bottles, formula, back up bottles, back up formula, burpy cloth, back up burpy cloth, water for bottles, back up water for bottes, diapers, more diaper, back up diapers, emergency diapers, wipes, back up wipes, car seat, pacifier, back up pacifier....all in the car and packed up - ready to go. Where's my keys? God damnnit!

Eating -- for you, not her. She is allowed to spill all over herself. It's expected. You're going to spill all over yourself while she's sitting in your lap fussing...so expect that your chipotle chicken sandwich is going to wear as good as it tastes.

These are just a few of the many kicks to the nuts I've taken this week. And while I will probably never say this out loud to my wife - and will deny it until I am dead - I do think she has the harder job between the two of us. For those of you who haven't tried it yet and are laughing this away as me being a wuss -- you'll get your week....and that baby is like the Tennessee Titans. You'll have no idea how, but she'll beat you on every front.

The Tank Cometh

2008-10-12T19:05:00.000-07:00

The third of us is now officially a DAD! Congrats to Eric -- his heir and his wife are both doing great. The first of us to produce anything that has a penis, I'm sure Eric will have PLENTY of new material for you to enjoy.

And don't worry - for those who are curious, Jeff has NO idea how close he is to being one of us. His wife is now surrounded by babies at varying stages of cuteness. Her biological clock sounds like Notre Dame right now...

You Gotta Sell It

2008-10-08T17:34:00.000-07:00

No matter how great you are (or think you are), you inevitably fall into bad habits. Mine is a sense of total energy loss when I get home from work. I just want to sit on the couch for a bit and unwind.

Unfortunately, as a stay at home mom, Mrs. Me looks forward to me getting home so that she can hand over baby. Most of time, I'm ok with it. Sometimes, though, I just don't have the initiative. And so, I'm going to share with you just ONE of my many tricks to get out of baby works. Read on, friend....

So I'm holding Baby and I smell what is either vinegar soaked cheerios, or a "pee pee diaper". I don't want to have to change her. It's not hard....it doesn't take long....but the changing table is like 8 feet from the really comfortable couch upon which my ass is glued. She begins to fuss, as any human would wallowing in their own waste. Here, my young apprentice, is where you have to sell it. Follow these steps:

1) Lift baby up and sniff her...then make the "nothing here" face
2) Look baby in eye and say aloud "What's wrong?" I cannot stress enough how much you have to ham this up. Here's your motivation; You're an incompetant dad...you don't know what you're doing....you're not mom - mom's the best, she's so good with baby. You wish you could be like her.
3) Draw mom's attention and say "I don't know what's wrong with her". (Mom's secretly love to see you confused / clueless -- that means they are the better parent, just as God and Oprah intended)
4) THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT STEP. IT'S GONNA HURT, BUT IT'S ALL WORTH IT. I say, in my best baby talk voice "I just want my Mommy!" (See what I did there? I made it sound like the baby was asking for mom.) This is the ultimate weapon, and is to be used sparingly. Use it too often and it becomes annoying and ineffective. Moms will melt at this and realize that their spawn needs them (Lioness to the rescue syndrome). It dates back to the cavemen, when dad's would get so frustrated with babies, they would eat them. Mom can't help but come to the rescue.
5) Hand baby to mom with a defeated look. If you really, really want to sell it, exhale loudly in disappointment and mutter something like "why doesn't she like me?" This step will save you from being caught during step six.
6) Sit back and enjoy as mom picks up baby, says "What's wrong baby girl" and then immediately says "Oh, I see - you got a pee pee diaper!" Then she'll give you that "Oh, it's ok, honey, you'll never be as good as me but you'll get better" look. Mission accomplished.
7) Turn on SportsCenter and email beingadadaintbad@gmail.com to express your thanks.

Go forth and dominate, my friends....

Pre-Order Now! Being Dad the DVD

2008-10-02T10:01:00.000-07:00

A good friend of the site has a movie coming out just for us dads!

It's called "Being Dad". You can preorder at Amazon.com by clicking here. You can see a free preview of it by clicking here. I've had the pleasure of seeing an advanced preview and I can't wait for it to come out. I feel it's the video embodiment of exactly what we've tried to put together here on the blog.

Hopefully, you'll all love it as much as I did. Let us know what you think and I'll forward the comments on to Troy!

Thanks!

Abe Lincoln's Ass is Gonna Be Hurtin...

2008-10-01T15:11:00.001-07:00

Cause it's time to start pinching pennies! Let's face it, the economy, as my grandfather would say, "She is-a no so good". Between the housing, the credit crunch, the stock market and the never ending bail out that isn't a bail out yet cause we need to inject "Main Street vs. Wall Street" into some more conversations......it's all forcing us to take stock of our finances.

Now that we have children or have children on the way - it's time to cut the expenses, save money in the short term, and make a few savvy moves that could pay off in the long term.

Let's focus on the short term -- there's quite a few things my wife and I figured out we could cut back on or found great ways to save money. The volume of coupons in the Sunday newspaper is staggering! We get the Washington Post, and they actually send a seperate coupon filled edition on Saturday. I couldn't care less if we buy Glade or Febreeze...so whichever had the coupon, you're the winner.

Next, we called our insurance company and did two things. Firstly, we mentioned that our commutes had changed (i had a shorter commute and my rates dropped). I also casually mentioned how another company had been courting me -- and magically, they found me more savings! Suckers.

I have 900 channels. I watch 200. I watch 4 of them consistently. Extended cable package - GONE. Here are just a few of the other things I was surprised how much we were able to save on: Cell phone bill (family plans are all the rage, look into them), any time you buy something onlne, do an internet search for the website name and "coupons" - you'll find a bunch of great savings, having your HVAC system serviced (or just changing the filter) can lower your energy bills. We ended magazine subscriptions, bought a water purifier instead of bottled water and scaled back on the dinners out. All in all, it's working.

Now for long term -- firstly, make sure your bank is FDIC. If it isn't - why don't you just put it all in the passenger seat of your convertible and drive around with the top down. You might lose it...you might not. But you're in trouble either way. Now, if you have any discretionary income - stock prices are at an all time low. Read a few analysts research and you will find that there are many stocks you can get for deep discount prices right now that might pay off tenfold down the road.

If all this doesn't work - it leaves us with three options. Robbing a bank, which looks easy based on most of the movies I've seen. Refusing to pay any more bills and living "off the grid" which leads to intense b.o. and drinking moonshine. Or moving out of the States. No thank you, I'll stick it out -- and if we do this right, we can make this downturn a happy memory one day when we're lighting cigars off 100 dollar bills.

Over the coming weeks we'll be posting financial tips and tricks to get us through this....

There's no Emoticon for what I'm feeling!

2008-09-25T05:20:00.000-07:00

There are few things I can say with 100% certainty. One of them is that any time you see a vanity plate that has the phrase "QT" in it - you are GUARANTEED that the driver of that vehicle is a) NOT, in fact, a Cutie and b) would be classified as either "clinicly" or "morbidly" obese.

The other is that the airport is the most depressing place on Earth. Now, a few people say it's one of the most "exciting" places, but these are typically people who only visit the airport for vacations to destinations 2 or less flight hours away. If you've ever gone on a flight 6 or more hours long, you know it ain't no picnic.

First off, you wait in line with a bunch of pissed off other people who are secretly PRAYING that their bag isn't overweight. Usually, you're stationed behind a Middle Eastern Family with 18 bags all of which look like a fat lady wearing spandex -- busting at the seams. You can see the individual zipper teeth hanging on for dear life.

After that, you get to move over to the depression line. It's known as security. This is where those of us who are not going on the trip have to say good bye to our loved ones. Now, it doesn't matter how long the person is going to be away - that's not really what prompts the sadness...it's the fact that a loved one (or loved ones) are doing something that is inherently life threatening. You can quote me statistics all day long on airplane safety, but the odds were the same for anyone who died in a plane crash - know what I mean?

So there I stood at the end of a security line saying good bye to my mom, my wife and my baby girl -- all of whom were visiting her family in Jolly Ole England. Nothing quite rips your heart out like having to kiss your bebe good bye not knowing if she's going to enjoy or absolutely panic on the airplane. A large, multi ton metallic vehicle relying on parts older than most of our cars was about to head out over the atlantic ocean for 5 hours carrying the 3 most important women in my life. Scared isn't QUITE the word for it.

I'm hoping each subsequent trip gets easier...but there's something about watching them walk away that you can't fight...an instinctual fear. I placed calls to all known super heroes....but they were unreturned. Needless to say....it sucks.

3 Months In - She's Now Scarred

2008-09-19T15:14:00.000-07:00

I was hoping that she'd go 30 years before I mentally scarred my child for life. I always assumed it'd involve me picking her up at school wearing dorky clothes, or telling a boy she couldn't talk on the phone cause she was "laying cable". Instead, I got to about the three month mark. Ninety days. 12 weeks. That's it. Not good.

Sugar Bear and I were sitting on the couch, watching some TV. Technically, I was watching TV and she was drooling all over herself while looking about the room. I leaned down to kiss her on the cheek when it hit me. There is only one thing that "hits" you and I think you know what it is. The old ice pick to the side feeling that can only mean one thing. An immediate mental countdown began. 30 seconds until there MUST be Cheek to Seat contact. Otherwise, things are going to get messy.

Now, normally in addition to the sudden light sweat and adrenaline rush, things wouldn't be too bad. You just clench tightly and walk slowly to the bathroom, perhaps stop for your favorite Sudoku book. But this was different. I had the baby in my arms. No one else is home. 25 seconds....

My eyes darted to the bouncy seat, burried underneath two blankets and a cat. No time to set it up and strap her in. 20 seconds.

Swing - not even worth it - way too much prep time. 18 seconds.

Propped up on the couch? No way! Imagine she falls and hits her head on the hardwood while I'm in the bathroom with faucet ass. I could never live it down. Once the news got ahold of it, I'd be labeled the guy who killed his kid while taking a dump. 12 seconds.

There was only one way - and it wasn't something I was looking forward to.

I stood up with baby in my arms....bad move - just cut my time in half thanks to some unfortunate straining. 6 seconds.

I was to the bathroom in a flash - no time to close the door. 4 seconds.

Looking back now - I think if someone had invented velcro pants, I'd have purchased those baby boys a long time ago. Instead, I spent the last 4 seconds of borrowed time attempting to undo a belt, button and zipper with one hand. The clock hit zero as I was mid squat.

I'll save you the gorey details but suffice it to say I experienced the strangest sensation; staring into the eyes of my child as she gave me that quizzical look while simultaneously unleashing the dogs of hell in a dark bathroom an open door.

My only hope is that she grows up never to remember this traumatic event.

I, however, will never be able to hear the words "General Tso's Chicken" without seeing that look on her face - slightly frightened, slightly entertained. It wasn't until after it was over that the nudity issue even entered my mind.

Suggestions for therapy gladly accepted.

Not exactly "Vacation"

2008-09-16T18:49:00.000-07:00

The first family vacation. Yikes. What are some words that come to mind when you think "vacation" ? Relaxing, fun, escape. Throw those words out the window, my friend. This change in perception can be illustrated as such; remember the last day of school when you were in 3rd grade? You woke up and got out of bed, actually EXCITED to go to school. You sat there doing nothing, just excited that it was all over. Now remember the last day of school in college. You had to cram all night, getting ready for that last final - usually the one you've dreaded the whole time. Stressful. This is vacation with the baby.

Packing for vacation with a baby is the ultimate exercise in "Just in Case" planning. We were only going away for 4 days, yet the car was packed like one of those out of state college kids treking back home. I swear to God, a few times I was convinced the front wheels were off the ground. If Columbus had had this much stuff on his ships, all three would have sunk under the weight of the grand pianos they had brought just in case the locals thought tickling the ivories was a sign of divinity.

After arriving at the beach, and 17 trips up and down stairs to bring in all our stuff, we had to start "planning" again. How were we going to take a baby to the beach and shield her from sun, wind, sand, crabs, seagulls, strangers, dune grass, rogue kites, and flies. You can call me friggin McIver, folks, cause I ended up building a shelter that would have made Chuck Noland proud. A boogie board half buried in sand to block wind - a large umbrella angled perfectly to block out the sun (without the use of a sextant), the lightning quick reflexes of a mongoose to swat away flies, and focus unlike any I've exhibited at the beach before. I'm pretty sure 3 to 7 hot chicks passed by and I couldn't tell you cup sizes of any of them. Had I not been attempting to create an artificial indoors for our child, I'd have been able to tell you their height, weight, star sign and middle name thanks to my polarize sunglasses. Instead - I was the cranky guy with his ass in the sand, under the umbrella, waving his hands like I'm landing planes on a pitching Aircraft Carrier.

After about 20 minutes, my wife and I gave up. Mother Nature was kicking our ass eight ways from Sunday. Wind kept the flies away, but made baby upset. The wind died down and the flies returned, making me jump and kick like a spastic. Clouds blocked the sun, she got too cold. The sun came out, she got too hot.

To sum up -- if you're going on vacation to a beach house - expect it to be alot more House and lot less Beach.

Now, lest I scare you away - there were some great times. And the bottom line is this trip, the idea of vacation, isn't about you and me anymore. It's about our kids. And it's about the experiences. It's not about drinking at 10 am and not feeling bad about it; it's not about sitting out in the sun claiming you have "Italian skin" and don't need sunscreen, then bitching when you're burnt to a crisp. It's about trying to provide your kids with the same happy childhood memories that still get us giddy about vacations every year.

Shame is for the Weak

2008-09-11T16:02:00.000-07:00

Baby and I decided to hit the book store in advance of our beach trip. The book store is a great place, isn't it? I love the smell - a mix of coffee and new paper. Walking around in that olfactory blitz instantly makes me have to take a dump. (Note; that sign on the door that says "No products in bathroom" is taken seriously.....trust me)

Strolling down the aisles, my eyes were dancing over all the colors and titles on the shelves. And then I heard it....the second loudest baby fart I've experienced in the last 11 weeks. A flash of embarrassment shot through me that is usually only reserved for that kid whose Pinewood Derby car gets stuck on the track. (Which, by the way, is hilarious when you're NOT that kid). I immediately surveyed the surrounding area. No one seemed to be close enough to hear - thank God.

What a stroke of luck, I thought. I, too, was feeling the effects of dinner down below. This was perfect! I could crop dust aisle after aisle without the fear of dirty looks. Surely that blue hair holding a copy of "Back When the Telegraph was Cool" couldn't be bothered by the stink if she thought it came from a baby. She'd probably even think it was morbidly cute - the little baby that had bubbly in the bowely.

I paced the store, head held high, sphincter relaxed, a wake of aerosol spaghetti sauce in my wake. Today's lesson, boys -- baby can save you alot of embarrasment and provide you 20 solid minutes of self satisfaction in public.

She's Giving Me the Stink Eye!

2008-09-09T08:48:00.001-07:00

One of the easiest ways to piss people off (aside from forcing them to watch Frank Caliendo) is to stare at them without saying a word. Babies tend to do this alot. Eventually, you'll find yourself staring back. I'm not about to sit there and let some baby push me around. She thinks she can stare at me and get away with it? I don't think so! She can throw up on me, piss on me, crap on me, cry me into submission, and even smile as I am forced to clean her butt - but I'll be damned if I'm going to sit there and let her look me down. No, sir. So, I stare back. And I stare hard. I've got this shit down -- you have to occassionally unfocus your eyes a bit...that's the key. You're welcome, I just gave you that for free.

Now, imagine how great I felt when I read this from babycenter.com:

"Prowess is a guy thing, right? Lest you believe that little baby of yours is a pushover, engage her in a time-honored ritual of seeing who'll blink first. She may surprise you. Babies love to contemplate faces, and chances are that before she gets bored you'll have dropped your gaze, wondering where she got that incredible dimple, or whether her ears look like your mom's or your wife's. "

I ain't losing to no stinking baby, and I damn sure am not contemplating whether her ears look like mom's. I don't even know what my mom's ears look like. Who does? That's just weird. Clearly this was written by a woman - they say things like "I got my mom's ears - don't they make me look fat?". Then all the other women sitting around try to convince her that's not true, and when she leaves the table they all snicker and talk about her fat ears. (Yes, that's actually what I imagine women's conversations to be like).

Bottom line - babies are entertained pretty much by anything - including themselves. So, being a good parents just means being within a 3 foot radius of them. They say talking to them is great too - as a matter of fact, I speak almost exclusively to my daughter. She's the only one in the house I can get a word in on! (Hi-yo!!!!) Remember, unfocus the eyes a bit....relax them....you'll beat that diaper clad diva every time!

Time to Get Mom Involved!

2008-09-06T09:02:00.001-07:00

One of the most stressful things about going out, my wife found, was wondering if there would be clean facilities to feed or change baby if she needed to. We were downright repulsed by some of the facilities in seemingly nice establishments. And, at other times, we were amazed at how thoughtful some of the "hole in the wall" restaurants were when it came to new baby's needs.

My wife and I have started a mass information gathering on local Northern VA / DC area restaurants/shops. But we need your help. If you've gone somewhere or plan to go somewhere soon - message me here or via our Facebook group and I can send you our "Evaluation Report Sheet" that you can fill out and get back to us. If you'd just rather report back to us via email or message, that's fine, too.

We appreciate the help!!!

Of Wii and Wee

2008-09-05T15:21:00.001-07:00

I can now say that getting my wife pregnant was the worst thing I did for both my penis and my MarioKart skills. Both have suffered due to neglect. Both were, at their peak, worthy of praise by any and all fortunate enough to have witnessed them in action. Now, sadly, both sit in the corner, unused, with a kind of quiet dignity and sadness. My boys aren't too happy with me either - Lefty and "Tingling Pain" are just as lonely.

Think of your wife getting pregnant like renting a car. You get behind the wheel, and it's suddenly liberating to drive again. You don't have to be careful anymore, it's a feeling of freedom and security! And this car is starting to look more sexy to you. For some reason, you'd swear the car's tires are getting bigger. Sure, it gets tired a bit more than your old car, but that's ok - did I mention the wheels seem bigger? And the freedom? A couple days (months) later, you realize that the fuel in the car is making it respond a bit better - it's starting to perform like never before! It's actually ASKING you to drive it!

It's the end of the week - almost time to return your rental. You're tired of it. It's tired of you. It just wants to get back to the lot and get the weight off it's shocks. You haven't driven in a while, and besides, when you did, you were so nervous you were going to damage it, you couldn't even concentrate. Then the big day comes - you get your car back! But wait....they tell you that you can't drive it for at least 6 weeks. You're convinced that the seat is giong to be bigger...you just have a feeling. And the car came with a puppy! The puppy needs constant attention and you can, under no circumstance, drive the car if the puppy is around. And you don't want to. The puppy might see something it shouldn't.

So, you resign yourself to the fact that you're never going to drive again; you're permanently glued to the couch, holding a fussing baby, staring at your Wii remote and your Penis. No apology will ever suffice....so I'll just say, "Sleep well, sweet prince. You served us well."

Scheduling Made Easy!

2008-09-05T11:49:00.000-07:00

If you haven't had a chance already, check out Jooners, it's a great way for you busy new parents out there to schedule, plan, and coordinate. If you're anything like me, without my computerized calendar not only would I not attend half my important events, I'd end up being late to those I did!!!! Let your friends know, too!

Pissed Off and Pissed On

2008-09-03T17:20:00.000-07:00

I hate my boss.

Now, I know what you're thinking "Everyone does". And you're probably right. But that doesn't make it suck any less to go to work and not really enjoy what you do. Let me say this, I absolutely love the industry I am in. I have the oppurtunity to meet great people, do something not alot of people can do, and use terms like "nipples", "Test Tees", and "motherfucker" openly without fear of reprisal. That's why construction is so fun. I never really grew up - the sandbox just got bigger.

But, let's face it guys, you spend 1/3 of your day at work. If you take the 1/3 you spend sleeping out, that actually means you spend HALF of your waking hours at work. Let's take it further - you probably spend an hour getting ready, an hour getting there and an hour getting home. So, that's almost 75% of your waking hours involved with this career. And if you're not happy there, it translates into just about everything else.

This was one of my biggest fears going into parenthood. I knew I hated my boss 11 months ago - and it's only gotten worse. I was scared to death that one of two possible scenarios would play out. Either A) I'd get so stressed at work that I'd come home to a stressful environment and end up making things worse at home or B) Lack of sleep at home would make me even more stressed at work and I'd end up doing something regrettable.

Today, I had a rough day as the result of my boss. I walked in the door to the sounds of a disgruntled baby. She was screaming and progressing to that shade of candied apple red that signifies "pissed off-edness". I took her over to our changing table, peeled back on the diaper..and she promptly peed on my hand. She then looked up at me and smiled. I'm not sure if she recognized that urinating on anyone other than yourself is funny (hysterical actually) or if it just felt good to empty the bladder......but that one event erased all the stresses of my work day.

So, this post is to reassure you guys that no matter how stressful your job, when that little baby comes along he or she will put everything in perspective. Work pays for life - life shouldn't pay for work. And baby will remind you of that - at the strangest, sometime most unhygenic, times.

To look or not to look

2008-09-02T16:44:00.000-07:00

We all talk a good game, but nudity catches everyone off guard. Ever walk down the street and suddenly THINK you see someone without a shirt or pants on. Immediately, you do a double take, get a quick adrenaline shot, and then force yourself to confirm or deny what you've seen. By the way, to the woman who was walking down K street last Thursday, I'm sorry - I didn't mean to point at your cream colored pants shouting "this isn't cinemax, you hussy!" -- I forgot my glasses that day.

How about when you accidentally walk in on someone changing? Your eyes IMMEDIATELY dart to where you're not supposed to be looking. It's human nature. You can call it modesty, you can call it curiousity, you can call it whatever you want. But, brother, let me tell you, if you have a girl - you better get over that shit.

The initial changing of my daughter was always a little awkward...because you're hands are dangerously close to parts of a little girl that they most definitely should not be. Crazy thoughts race through your head like "shouldn't I be arrested for this" and "she's not enjoying this is she?"

(Ask Mark about his experiences....they're even worse than what most of us had to go through! And by worse i mean hysterical to anyone who isn't Mark).

P.S. - for those that don't know, thanks to hormones your daughters anatomy will be...how you say...larger than life. Thank God I read about this beforehand or else I'd have been freaked out.

Better than YOUR reaction, is that of others. It's always other guys - who walk in on you changing her and immediately feel uncomfortable. Why is that? No one seems that put off by a baby boy with his penis hanging out there (no pun intended) for all to see. Yet a little girl's lady bits immediately cause more awkwardness then announcing your political affiliation by accident.

My father won't even be in the same room when we change our daughter cause he doesn't think it's right. Maybe it's generational, or maybe certain people are just a little more reserved than others - but don't take it personally if you go to change your daughter and the room empties faster than a high school drinking party when someone yells cops.

The Toys R Us Hotel and Casino!

2008-08-30T07:01:00.000-07:00

Near as I can tell, the people at Toys R Us are retired Casino designers. That's the only explanation for the intense similarities between the two. As soon as you walk into any T.R.U., you're assaulted with colors, sounds, increased oxygen flow....and not a clock in sight!

It only takes about 5 minutes and you're three rows deep into the store. Fire codes be damned, finding an exit in there is like trying to find someone who roots for the Dolphins. You know they're out there...but they're not drawing any attention to themselves.

Guys, I have news for you....Toys R Us and Casinos are alike in that they are designed to separate Men from their money. There are awesome displays at the end of the aisle that you can play with (I mean, the kids can play with....) -- just like that oversized slot machine every casino has. Casinos hand out free drinks to disorient you - Toys R Us has a huge candy display. Casinos load up their staff with attractive women. Toys R Us know that the M in MILF stands for Mother, and that they'll be in the store too. No need to hire to fill that spot - the general public tends to feed on itself here.

Now, when we go with our wife, we have a shot...she tends to keep us on point, just like in the casino. But, there's that one place that always manages to get the man away from his caregiver, punches him in the nuts, and then takes his wallet; the Sports Book. Toys R Us calls this the "Sports Section" but it's the same. At the Borgata I took the Cardinals and the points - and saw my money disappear faster than a TastyKake at a Weight Watchers convention. At Toys R Us I had an imaginary game of nerf football catch with my not-yet-born son. Both lead to me openly sobbing in public.

And both I'd do again tomorrow if my wife wasn't around.

This is your warning, boys. Heed it.

The Rise and Fall of Superman

2008-08-25T17:37:00.000-07:00

I've always suspected I might be a super hero. On long car trips I'd imagine my matrix like fighting skills being unleashed in a moment of rage. But what moment? When? What the hell happened to my exit? I'm in New York? Damnnit, not again!

One of the biggest questions was always "who would I fight"? My Sugar Bear taught me who that is...anyone and anything that might harm her.

My wife and I went for a walk this weekend with the baby. We just walked around the neighborhood a bit - and I came to a scary realization; we live in an incredibly dangerous place! I looked like a bobble head on a roller coaster - my head cutting back and forth, trying to identify all possible enemies at once. And that's when it happened......in my own mind, I became Superman.

An old lady approached with her golden retriever. I looked into the eyes of the beast and saw a veiled desire to consume my baby girl. I clenched my fist and immediately planned my attack. If Rex so much as made a move for the stroller, I was going to rain elbows down on his head like a UFC fighter going for the belt.

Fortunately (for the almost Old Yeller), he backed down. He knew I was no ordinary man. I am a DAD. Then I spotted the gang of thugs. "Riff Raff", "Hooligans", "Little Leaguers" - whatever you want to call them...they were occupying the sidewalk just ahead of us. Five of them, three of us. Well, two and a half. And they had bat bags. Which contain bats. I knew this, not from my X-Ray vision (which hasn't fully developed yet) but from my obviously superior brain. "Time to die, punks" floated through my mind as I planned their demise.

They, too, must have seen the look in my eyes - they pretended not to notice us as we walked by. But they definitely saw me swat that mosquito going for my girl - and they respected both the speed and the skill....and my ability to do so without squeeling. Much.

But today, as Superman, I met my archenemy. I met the black to my white - the cold to my hot....and her name was Nurse Kathy. Her weapon of choice? Two and a half inches of bio safe metal. She stuck four of them right into my baby girl's legs....and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

In a word; "Heartbreaking". Seeing my daughter turn shades of red I thought only reserved for the Terrorist Threat Level, I could literally feel my heart breaking. My wife, as much as she tried, couldn't keep from getting upset over it all. Here our daughter was, in what had to be the worst pain she'd felt in her life (of only 2 months), and we could only stand by and watch. My ability to frighten dogs with a look - to make armed thugs in little league outfits cower as I strolled by - to snatch living creatures from the sky and smite them; all worthless inside a tiny doctor's office.

About an hour later, she was sleeping lightly in our living room, completely content. Me? I'm typing this to you and hoping when I fall asleep tonight it's not daydreaming about all the WORSE things that could hurt my baby that I won't have any control over. Dating, my friends, will be totally out of the question.

And we have to do it again in two months.

The Culture of Fear

2008-08-23T20:04:00.000-07:00

I hope that when Google finally takes over the world, I am viewed favorably. I use their email, their blog site, their analyzing site. I even have Google tattooed on my ass just in case I'm secretly taped during sex - I figure I'd have a chance at sponsorship money. (or an offer from Gillette).

It occurred to me today, that I have no idea how parents without our modern technologies could cope. As I type this, I'm watching a small white "walkie talkie" with lights for the slightest gurgle or cough that would signal the demise of my sleeping daughter. How was this done before the invention of the monitor? Was a sentry posted at the door? Did parents two generations ago sit next to the crib all night? Or did they just not worry as much as we do?

Our daughter had hiccups that started to upset her. As any parent of today, we immediately got on the internet and read every possible article and opinion post we could find. Some recommended gas medication for baby. What did we do? We got online, looked up the product name, description, alternate pronunciations, side effects, costs, research and development, etc - then hopped in our car, programmed our GPS to the nearest Rite-Aid, put the iPod on soothing tracks for her and made our way out.

How did our grandparents do it? Do you think they just wrote their thoughts on the world down on paper and thumb tacked them to local telephone polls in lieu of blogging? Surely the world wanted to know about their children as much as you do mine!

The truth is, we're a culture of fear. There are probably at least THREE books that your wife is reading right now that convince her if she doesn't buy the right thing, it's going to kill your baby.

What's the difference between a $200 and a $600 crib? Fear. The baby bargain book says that the $200 dollar one has been known to spontaneously combust destroying whole city blocks. Thinking of buying a used one instead? Well, why don't you just go ahead and turn yourself into police now, you baby murderer!

What's the difference between our parents stroller and the stroller we bought? Our parents bought what was basically an umbrella with roller skate wheels on the bottom. Folded nicely though. Now, the one we bought performs better off road than my truck. It folds up and changes shape more often than Optimus Prime having a seizure.

Remember those "walkers" that our parents put us in? Every single kid had one. Thinking about it, what was the proposal in THAT boardroom like? I can only assme they started with the question, "how can we make babies require EVEN more supervision?" Strap wheels onto them and surround them with a very thin plastic chassis.

Every one of our parents has a story about how you rolled down the steps in it, or you ran it as fast as you could into the wall so hard that it flipped over. Today, they're outlawed in Canada. Oh, don't believe me? Click here.

The bottom line is that there is HUGE MONEY IN FEAR. And who would be the most scared people on Earth? Pygmys in a bar at Dwarf Tossing Night. Wait, I meant New Parents. And so, that's why the books, the websites, the "experts" all try to convince us that if we don't buy what they say, we're bad parents. Well, I love my parents, they did a terrific job raising me safely despite the fact that our car didn't have seat belts and I slept in an old wheel barrow for the first 3 months. And I turned out fine. Right?

Coming Soon

2008-08-21T18:53:00.000-07:00

We've gotten emails and comments asking about the birthing experience itself. Our panel is putting together a collection of experiences as told by the moms and dads themselves. We should have them posted by Sunday, 8/24!

Did You Just Say "Ridicurous?"

2008-08-20T17:42:00.000-07:00

Every parent out there has experienced at least once what I'm about to tell you. People, usually women, for some reason believe that anyone who has had a baby or is going to have a baby should answer any question.

My wife was at the grocery store with our newborn when the cashier asked "So, did you have a c-section or did you have her naturally?" Now, the question is bad enough, but she actually mimed the motion of a scalpel and of what appeared to be forceps yanking the baby out. (we ultimately threw away the celery and cantalope used for illustration). Why on Earth would this woman need that information? Moreover, why would she feel the need to ask that question...in public?!

Imagine if my wife had said she'd recently had a colonoscopy. "So, did they find anything or did you just have to take a big dump?" Or how about "Viagra perscription? Planning on some sex or just need a place to hang wet towels?"

Just being with a pregnant person can be dangerous enough. You'll get alot of "so, when YOU going to get pregnant?" -- NEVER ASK THIS QUESTION....remember, that person may have been trying to get pregnant for the passed six months and doesn't need it rubbed in their face.

Strange "compliments" are also prevalent. "Wow, your baby looks so pretty and fat and chunky!" -- sure, babies are supposed to be fat, but if you wouldn't say it about an 18 year old, don't say it about an 18 day old.

The one you just need to get used to, of course, is the boy / girl conundrum. You can go about it two ways. You can do what my wife did and dress our little girl in so much pink that we once left the house with a piglet doll by accident - or you can go the other way....the ambiguous white / yellow outfit. It's kind of sporty to watch different people react. Some stutter and use words like "baby" and "they" to replace he and she. Some just committ and go with one, then look mildly annoyed when you correct them. (P.S. -- the apology always makes me laugh. Is it an insult to call a boy a girl or vice versa? No. Yet people will always apologize for it. If you want to have some real fun, just quickly turn away from the person and say "c'mon, honey, we don't have to put up with this!")

Expect questions about labor, conception, hygiene, and everything in between. My advice -- when the questions start to get too much, just have your partner look around nervously and say "Let's go, hon, they'll figure out she's missing any minute!" and run like hell.

Newborns. The Unexpected Muse

2008-08-18T16:47:00.000-07:00

You remember that episode of Seinfeld where Kramer starts taking 20 minute naps in an effort to unlock his inner most genius. Friends, I have been there.

Babie don't care that you drank too much at Grandma's 80th birthday and want to sleep for 10 hours. They don't care that you really want to see UFC Unleashed at 9 or that "Die Hard" is on. (Nor does she want to hear your stunning rendition of John McClain's "Yippie..." line).

Basically, baby is on a different schedule, and you'll find yourself living Kramer's dream - being awake many more hours than you're used to. But, fear not -- with this inconvenience comes benefits.

It's 4:45 am on Sunday. I'm downstairs cradling a semi-conscious baby in my arms while surfing through the channels. I stop on SportsCenter (thank God!) and start watching golf highlights (if there is such a thing). I don't know if it was the smell of formula and night sweats or just the sudden unlocking of subconscious thought, but a flood of life's questions hit me:

When will the whole shouting "It's in the hole!" from the gallery disappear? Seriously, I mean, the guy's driving off the tee on a Par 5 and there's still an idiot who has to yell that? Or better yet, there's two idiots racing to see who can say it first. This must stop. And I must stop it.

Are antennae (i took Latin, impressed? I also have a permanent wedgie scar and the ability to open lockers from the inside.) really still necessary on a car? Hasn't technology come far enough along to eliminate them? They're really only good for pissing the Hispanic guy at the Exxon car wash off when he has to unscrew it and hand it to you. For that matter, does that extra 2 inches of antenna on my cell phone really do anything? I can't imagine that it does. Although, we've all seen at least one person holding it up with their free hand because they broke it earlier in the week. Hilarious.

You know what else hit me? I don't think the waittress at Hooters who kept calling me "cutie" really thought I was cute. That bitch. Joke's on her, though - that 89% tip I left had nothing to do with her service, which was mediocre at best.

In addition to these great revelations, being awake at 5 am on Sunday also allowed me another new found passion; purchasing the greatest products on Earth. That's right, you're now reading the blog of a proud owner of "Mighty Putty", "The Showtime Rotisserie Grill", "The Magic Bullet", and "How to Buy and Sell Real Estate for Profit". Thank you newborn baby, you know not what you've done for your own future!

No Baby Left Behind!

2008-08-17T11:59:00.000-07:00

How quickly joy can turn to terror. Baby 2 of 3 has given us all quite a scare lately. She was running a fever and had to be readmitted to the hospital at only 3 days old. While this is a horrible experience for our boy Mark, there is one huge positive to take from this. The rally of our friends to help in any way possible.

One of the biggest fears during pregnancy is the worry that if something does go wrong, will you be able to handle it? And just know this, my fellow Dads, you don't have to handle it on your own. Few things unite us as a society as much as a total empathy for children (and blind hatred for Ryan Seacrest).

I'm happy to say that it sounds like Baby 2 of 3 will be fine - but I wanted to share with you guys that no matter what happens, you've got your fellow Dads out there for support - even if it's just to go walk your dogs while you're in the hospital.

Semper Pacifierus ; We leave no baby behind!

A Call to Arms!

2008-08-15T15:26:00.000-07:00

Did you read any books while your lady friend was pregnant? Haha! Me, neither! Did you set a baby book out on your desk so the hot chick at work would see it and find your new found maturity attractive? Great!

If there are any books, DVDs, websites that you found helpful - email us at beingadadaintbad@gmail.com and let us know - we'll post them to share with the rest of you jokers!

Alright - I've got a date with the Women's Gymnastics on TV - and contemplating if it's ok to find them attractive despite their juvenile appearance. Plus, would I rather be the floor or the horse? So many questions - so disturbing.

The Man Date Mandate

2008-08-15T04:38:00.000-07:00

Therapy comes in many forms, my friend. The Man Date will be one of your few oppurtunities to cling to sanity as you go through this wild ride. Hanging out with the guys and venting about life with a pregnant woman is essential. (Women reading this will instantly get fired up at me, but I'm not saying it's a bad mouth session - sometimes you just need to tell some stories, make some jokes, and get ripped on by the guys to feel a little more in control of what's going on).

On that note - let's address a few things about pregnancy. We as guys have NO control of it. We've put our 3 minutes (hey, what can i say, I was on my game) of work in already. For the next 9 months our role is totally in a support capacity. Let's face it, being a pregnant woman is not fun. Imagine two months after having sex, a doctor announces you have a kidney stone that will grow to the size of a cantalope and then only has one way out. Yeah, I'm thinking we'd be weepy and stressed, too.

So, for her sake and yours, you need to hang with the guys and she needs to hang with the girls. If your friendship group contains that guy who JUST got married and still feels the need to tell his wife everything that transpires, then he will need to be dealt with. I find that retaining pictures from his bachelor party works well. God Bless You, Photoshop.

Let me help you out on this, too. If your wife starts to give you shit over wanting to hang with the guys, you've got an out. Fear. That's right, no woman in her right mind will not melt when you tell her how you need to spend time with the guys because "I'm so scared that I won't be the father this child needs while still being the husband you deserve". She doesn't need to know, of course, that you'll be "confessing this fear" by consuming alot of beer and watching football.

If you need something to distract the woman, manicures and pedicures are the way to go. Pregnant women have a hard time feeling attractive while vomiting every morning and watching their feet swell to the size of Italian Bread loaves. Stearing them to a hair appointment or the local salon just bought you a drunken afternoon of disdain for Jim Nantz's creepy man crush on Tom Brady.

Go Redskins!

2 Down, 1 To Go

2008-08-14T04:15:00.001-07:00

The second of us knuckleheads is now a Dad!!! Congrats to the new parents - and we all look forward to hearing from Mark on life as a BRAND NEW Dad!

Daddy vs. The Diaper -- Why I can't eat Gulden's Mustard anymore

2008-08-13T06:19:00.000-07:00

I know what you're thinking - finally a post for us NEW Dads! Or you're thinking "I'm only reading this because I'm bored at work, it's not that funny". Either way.

Now I've yet to meet the diaper I can't change. But for those of you who haven't had the pleasure, I'll provide you some worthwhile analogies. First off, let me say that I absolutely love and admire the people at Huggies. I never gave the proper respect to the volume or velocity of baby releases. The people at Huggies, however, knew what to expect.

Imagine the diaper as a Ziploc bag. Now, imagine your baby's digestive tract is a 1 gallon tub of salsa. You could easily pour that into the bag, right? Of course. But to register the full velocity that baby gas puts behind said release, have a friend pour the 1 gallon tub from 30 to 60 feet above your head. It's something like that.

For example, I was staring lovingly into my angel's eyes, when she got "the look". In the first couple weeks I had mistaken this for her being lost deep in thought (probably thinking about how awesome her dad was, or how lucky she was to have a superior parent like myself available to her). While lost in "thought" I noticed she would draw her legs up to her. This, my friends, is your warning. Imagine this to be the cocking of the shotgun or the drawing back of the bow string. It signifies that someone is about to get seriously f-ed up.

Now, here's the double edged sword that is diapers. They contain the lactose explosion, sure enough - but they do so in a manner that makes undoing the baby's diaper a scary situation. You know that anticipation you get from opening a Christmas present when you think you know what it is...it's like that. You open what you assume is a slightly soiled diaper and find TOTAL DIGESTIVE CARNAGE. I swear to God, my little gorgeous princess actually dropped a bomb so big that it shot into the diaper, up her back, over the rim, through her onesie, through her sleepsack, and through my right sleeve. (30 minutes later, gasoline and a wire brush did manage to get most of it off my arm, along with the skin and one layer of muscle).

Here's the other thing about changing diapers. You can tell how good you'll be at it with this simple test. Have you defused a bomb in your life? If the answer is yes, you'll do fine.

Changing a baby is taking both life and health in your own hands. There can be no more than 2 to 3 seconds where a diaper is not touching that baby's ass. If you make the rookie mistake of taking off diaper number one and lazily reaching for clean diaper - congratulations, friend, you just got a Jackson Pollock painting on your changing table.

After a few weeks of practice, your hands will move over that baby's posterior like one of those robot arms on the Ford assembly line. I'm so good, I actually managed to change her diaper while simultaneously shitting my own pants.

Oh, and don't worry, you'll get good at plenty of practice -- it's customary practice for your little tike to soil them mere seconds after you put a brand new clean diaper on. And they'll give you that cute baby smile that just says "Yeah, that's right, I destroyed this new diaper. What are you gonna do about it? I'll tell you what you're going to do, you're gonna wipe my butt and like it chief. And don't forget the diaper cream this time."

Confirmation and Aggrevation

2008-08-10T17:21:00.000-07:00

Who would have thought that a mass produced plastic device that you urinate on could possibly be wrong? Well, just in case it is, you'll be taking a trip to the doctor soon, Ace. There are some valuable things you'll need to know before heading that deep into enemy territory.

Most likely, you'll be visiting the office of an OB/GYN. I say most likely, because if you have the same insurance I do, you'll instead be visiting Ziggy's Winnebago O' Doctoring. I shouldn't complain, it doesn't run, so he's pretty easy to find. And for a pot head he keeps his syringe and turkey baster surprisingly clean. But I digress...

Visiting the OB/GYN office with your lady friend is awkward, I'm not gonna lie. First, you'll probably be the only guy in there. Secondly, every woman in there, you know, is getting her undercarriage looked at. There's something quite uncomfortable about it, actually. You'll find yourself trying to guess what each woman is in there for. Until you spot the 65 year old. Then, you'll begin shivering like a polar bear club member having a seizure in Antarctica.

Right about the time you're done flipping through that copy of last month's "Why You're Fat and He's Cheating On You", the nurse will call for your significant other. When you both stand up, she'll let out that little half sigh that just says, "Great...here we go again."

I will say that this gives you a healthy respect for what woman go through to keep the goods in order. The nurse ushers you into a room, with some chairs, a sink, and one of the usual medical tables. But you will be unable to focus on anything but the stirrups. More on this later.

The nurse will do the usual, ask some questions that involve phrases like "last period" and "regular intervals." Tune out, friend, cause you're going to probably hear some things you don't want to. What will wake you up from this daydreaming is the nurse's final instruction - "Hop up on the table, undress from the waste down, and cover yourself with the gown".

Being naked from the waist down is disarming enough...but it's nothing compared to what's coming next.

The Doctor enters and takes a seat at what I will refer to as "Ground Zero". Now, had I not read The Expectant Father, I'd have been really insulted by what happened next. The doctor introduced himself to my wife, asked her how she was doing and then looked at me and gave me "the nod". You know the nod....like the one you give someone your passing by on the sidewalk. As far as he was concerned, I might as well have been a poster on the wall.

He then reaches for what I had thought was a white maglite flashlight. Turns out, this is the device with which he will now violate my wife. At this point, he picks a condom out of a drawer. I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH - DO NOT MAKE THE JOKE "SHE DOESN'T NEED THAT DOC, SHE'S ALREADY PREGNANT!" He's heard it before, it wasn't funny to him then. Just sit quietly and bear with it. Why does he need a scope the size of a pringles can to see something the size of a pea? I don't know. I'm just a poster on the wall.

After confirmation, you'll probably retire to his office. (yes, your wife will have her pants back on). Here's where The Expectant Father really prepared me. The Authors stress that, as the father, you'll be largely ignored in this initial visit. I had no idea how right they were. It all culminated with me asking the doctor if medication I was taking could be passed to my wife. His exact quote was, "No. Nothing about you is important." Hand to God, that was the quote. Nothing like a verbal slap to the face after I had to watch him spelunk inside my wife's baby oven.

But, the aggrevation of the way I was ignored was soon replaced by the recognition that it was confirmed -- we were going to have a child!

Now.....when could we start telling people?

The Transformation Begins

2008-08-09T18:11:00.000-07:00

It's funny the things you know about pregnancy. For example, as soon as you tell someone that your wife is pregnant, they'll typically ask "Has she got morning sickness?" My wife and I expected that she'd be hugging the bowl like a Frat boy on St. Patrick's Day. However, what we didn't know is just how tired she was going to be those first few weeks. Here's where you're getting a head start on all the other guys out there - you know it's coming. Some women find it totally debilitating. My wife was so tired on some days, she actually had to call out of work.

Most guys start to think of this as a negative. Trust me, home boy, it's awesome for you. My wife was hitting the sack at 7 pm. I could watch tv, house my friends on Wii MarioKart, do whatever I wanted! I surfed porn with ease, left the bathroom door open so I could still see the tv, and carved a perfect impression of my ass in our couch thanks to our DVR.

Now, it's not all youporn and football. You don't quite realize how much your wife does until she stops doing it. (By the way, if you have a cat, congratulations you just earned a year and a half of cleaning the litter as it can get her and your fetus sick...get used to the smell of cat shit, Ace). Laundry started to pile up, the dishwasher stayed full, and toilet paper holders were suddenly empty. Side note, when waddling back towards the bathroom with your underwear around your knees and a roll of paper towel in your hands - ensure that ALL blinds are closed. I still can't look my neighbor in the eye....or her dog.

This will be your first glimpse into the TRANSFORMATION. That woman you're with has more hormones coursing through her than Barry Bonds' ass right before the playoffs. As a result, where we as men would find having to sleep all the time mildly inconvenient, your woman will start to feel it's a reflection of laziness and weakness. Remember, she knew the morning sickness was coming, but she probably didn't expect the sleepiness. Here is where you can either set yourself up for success or failure. Tell her she's overreacting or crazy and you're going to experience the first manual neutering. Instead, remind her that her body is doing exactly what it was designed to do - it is the single most important thing that her body will ever do. As a result, everything else tends to shut down while the body concentrates on creating that life.

With what's coming later - trust me, this is nothing....

Wait....you peed on this?

2008-08-07T17:46:00.000-07:00

Every one of us has the exact same reaction when handed a positive pregnancy test. "You're pregnant?" Why do we feel it necessary to ask that question. Clearly this plastic device coated in urine would not lie to us.

There is also one other uniting reaction: IT WORKS!!!!!

Mentally, as men, the realization that we were able to get our significant other pregnant produces a primal pride. I'll admit I had my own downs. But how could I? Of course I'm potent.

Now, I'm quietly confident my wife got pregnant during sex, but if we were in two seperate rooms at the time, I don't want any innocent bystanders to get caught up in my seemingly super human ability to inpregnate others. I made a mental note to double wash my boxers for the next couple weeks, just in case. Never can be too careful when you're packing such a powerful concealed weapon.

For the next few days, I took special care to warn any woman who got too close. "Ma'am, you might not want to sit next to me, I'm extremely potent". You'd be surprised how quickly security responds on Metro.

My thoughts then jumped to my recent car trip to Raleigh a few weeks before. The news had reported record tobacco crop growth in the area since. You're welcome, North Carolina.

There's an inherent justification in it all. I mean, I've known my penis for almost 30 years now, and he's never disappointed me before. Now, that's not entirely true but I had alot to drink, and had eaten a large meal, and my dog had died that week, and there were alot of reasons, ok, so just drop it.

Those first couple days, all kinds of crazy thoughts pop into your mind. For example, what if our future child grew up to find the cure for cancer? Does society recognize the debt it would owe my balls?!

We're all vindicated when our significant other comes to us and tells us she's pregnant. It's ok to feel proud. You should. Some of us have had to try for a long time to hear that news. When it comes, it's a huge weight off both your shoulders. If you had to try for a few months (completely normal according to study after study), there's a level of stress in the house that you just don't need. So that little pink line, blue cross, or ultrasound picture can make a big difference for your mental health.

All I can say is enjoy it, because immediately following that swell of pride is inexorable terror.

Being a Parent Breeds Arrogance

2008-08-07T04:59:00.001-07:00

And so it begins. Allow me to explain. My wife gave birth to our first child, a girl, in late June. That means that I am the proud father of a beautiful 6 week old girl. (Thank you to those who just said out loud "congratulations". To those who didn't, why don't you hop over to Martha Stewart's blog for a lesson in etiquette.) Because I now have a child, I am an instant expert on parenting. And thus, like Moses, I've come down from upon high with a Diaper Genie in one hand and a copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting..." in the other. Tremble before me, ye that lack of procreation!

Let me explain what this is all about. If you're a father or soon to be a father and you're looking for advice or information on the internet, here is what you will find; most websites are geared towards an older crowd. Go to any site that pops up in a google search and you'll see photos of a forty something guy rolling around in the grass with his toddler. Scroll down to another site, and you'll typically see a mother in the foreground with dad in the back, wearing a baby bjorn, and scratching his head trying to figure out how to fold up the stroller. My point? These websites don't do us any good. They treat fathers like yet another child for mother to supervise. Others assume we're all middle aged, middle management, middle class. And that just ain't the way it is, brother.

Most of the these sites are penned by women or gay men. Don't get me wrong, some of the information is good. For example, I almost dressed my girl in a pink onesie under a yellow outfit! So not fabulous!

And when searching these sites on advice on what expectant fathers should do - I was happy to see "be a part of your child's life" and "don't abuse their mother" listed. I had planned on routinely beating my wife and ignoring the child, but thankfully one site out there had the foresight to inform me of my error.

And so, with the help of my friends, I will try to bring you and yours the best, most HONEST info I can for dads and expectant dads alike.

Let's not gloss over it, chief, this is scary as shit.

See, up until now you had one responsibility; don't fuck up your life. You've already blown that, Ace, as you are now going to be a dad. So now your entire life's goal has changed....now you're job is not to fuck up THEIR life. I had a girl, so my mission is about 100 times harder than if it was a boy. Don't believe me? I challenge you to find a stripper who had a good relationship with her dad. And if her explanation of a "good relationship" involves the words "family picnic" and "our little secret", then I rest my case.

In the coming days, weeks, and years you'll be reading not only my experiences, but those of my friends who are also new dads or soon to be dads. We each have different plans with regard to just about everything from who is going to continue working, to how we plan to pay for college, to which crib we feel will not spontaneously crumble into a stack of off-white toothpicks.

I hope you enjoy this site for it's humor, but more for the valuable advice I intend to pass. I'm not an expert; but here's a newsflash for you, sweetheart, niether are they. You know who the expert was? The caveman,Ug, who managed to keep his kid from getting eaten by a Sabertoothed Tiger -- that guy knew what the fuck he was doing. I screamed like a little girl the first time I got shit on.

Here's to you, Ug.