MetroDad

What can Brown do for you?

Tonight is BossLady's last night of freedom. Tomorrow, her 4-month maternity leave is officially over! Naturally, this is an emotional milestone for her and she's wrought with anxiety. Having been away from work for so long, it's understandable that she's experiencing a flurry of emotions. She's heartbroken about leaving the Peanut in daycare. She's distressed about the projects waiting for her at work. She's nervous about pumping breast milk at work. She's distraught about not being able to fit into her old work clothes. And more than anything, she's stressed about juggling the responsibilities of work and motherhood.

But me? I couldn't be happier! Right now, I'm hiding in the kitchen and celebrating by drinking a vodka martini. Why? Because I'm an insensitive jerk? No, friends not me. I'm happy because although I share some of my wife's anxieties about her return to work, I know that SHE'LL HAVE LESS TIME TO BUY BABY SHIT OFF THE INTERNET!

Don't get me wrong. My wife is not a spendthrift. But there's something about having a baby that makes the BossLady turn into the Imelda Marcos of infant gear. I think her newfound profligacy is a combination of her love for the Peanut, the isolation of being home alone all day with a baby, the idle chatter of other young mothers and the fact of having free time on her hands. Or maybe it's part of the gathering instinct embedded into a mother's genetic code. All I know is that the parts of the apartment that aren't covered with baby gear are usually covered with an avalanche of baby catalogs. Who even knew there were that many companies that sold baby crap?

Anyway, I hadn't quite realized the extent of the BossLady's buying until two months after the birth of the Peanut. Sure, I'd noticed a few more extra boxes lying around. And the Peanut seemed to have outfits that I'd never seen before. But it wasn't until I came home early one day from work and ran into the UPS delivery man that I saw how my wife had been spending her days.

Just to set the record straight, the UPS man comes to our apartment building at 5:30 every afternoon so I'd never met him before because I'm always in the office during that time. But as soon as we ran into each other in the lobby, he greeted me like a long-lost friend. First, he called me by my name. Second, he congratulated me on the birth of the Peanut and marveled at how cute she was. And third, he turned to me and said, "Sorry. No packages for you guys today."

Now, I'm a pretty friendly guy so I turned to my UPS guy and replied, "Look. Just between us guys, am I getting packages delivered to my apartment every day?" My man in brown turned to me, laughed a little and said, "Dude. Usually, you get SEVERAL packages a day." What the fuck? Are you kidding me? Normally I'd go through the roof, explode into the apartment and tear up the BossLady's credit cards. But how upset can you be with a woman who just gave birth to your beautiful daughter, right? Needless to say, BossLady and I had a little talk that evening and we put a moratorium on her baby spending.

And the UPS guy? Thank God he honored Guy Code and gave me the scoop. I owe him for that one. Every once in awhile, I'll be walking down the street with my nose in the newspaper and I'll hear these two loud beeps. I'll look up and see the UPS man driving his big old brown truck. Every time he sees me now, he honks his horn, gives me a little smile and flashes a big thumbs up. Funny motherfucker, isn't he?

Now for some final wise words of wisdom...

Fellas...when your wife gives birth, hide all the credit cards. She's going to be a little disoriented from giving birth and her mind will be on so many things that she'll naturally be more forgetful. Stick her credit cards somewhere she won't find them (in my wife's case, the oven.) Whatever you do, don't leave your wife at home alone with a new baby, a credit card and internet access. Trust me on this one.

Ladies...if you must be madwomen and order everything off buymorebabyshit.com, be smart about it. Have everything giftwrapped and sent to you so it doesn't look like you bought it yourself. Or try sending all the stuff to your sister's house. Whatever you do, don't let your husbands find the receipts.

And BossLady...All kidding aside, thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving us the greatest gift in the world...the birth of our little Peanut. I've never been happier. Thank you for enduring the travails of pregnancy and the pain of childbirth. I know it hasn't always been easy but how can you argue with the end result? We make a pretty cute baby, don't we? I think we should make a few more. Want to meet me in the bedroom in 10 minutes and go for #2? (Just kidding!) We can wait a few more months! (again, kidding!) But the Peanut and I love you tremendously! You're a great wife and a loving mom. Have a great day at work tomorrow and always remember how much we love you.

Technology

Have I mentioned to you that the BossLady and I are serious gadget geeks? I'm talking Nerd Central. Some people might call us "early adopters" but we have no problem admitting that we really are total geeks. Prior to the birth of the Peanut, we spent an irresponsibly and disproportionately large share of our income on gadgets. Our apartment is filled with cellphones, PDAs, digital cameras, portable DVD players, electronic board games, DJ headphones, USB devices and tons of other crap. I don't know how but we've already gone through about 4 ipods. It's like a fucking disease, people!

The pending arrival of the Peanut gave us a whole new area in which to express our total geekiness. So after learning that BossLady was pregnant, we didn't waste any time getting started. We've literally got ALL the baby crap that you could possibly envision...diaper genies, bottle warmers, automatic wipe warmers, bottle sterilizers, Sharper Image air filters, self-rolling rocking chairs, humidifiers, Graco Pack-and-Plays, space heaters, baby monitors, motion detectors, etc. We've even got 3 different strollers...one's a car seat adaptor, another's for travelling on the subway, and the third is for terkking on urban terrain or on the slopes.

In a very nominal way, I guess each of these gadgets does make our life incrementally easier. The bottle sterilizer sure beats having to boil water all the time (besides, I melted 2 bottles and ruined 2 cooking pots because I fell asleep while sterilizing.) The baby monitors are great because we can have cocktails at our neighbor's apartment and still keep tabs on the Peanut (plus, you can also use them as one-way walkie talkies.) And the Fisher Price Aquarium Rocker is worth it's weight in gold. It's the only thing that soothes the Peanut to sleep.

So on the one hand, I feel like we're taking advantage of technology and its ability to assist us in caring for our newborn daughter. Anything that makes our life even a little easier is worth it. After all, how much would you pay for an extra hour of sleep every day of the week?

On the other hand, I sometimes feel like a total sucker. I feel like a byproduct of our consumerist culture. Millions of babies have been raised just fine without any of these gadgets. Therefore, their net value must be negligible, right? It's strange because, in a perverted way, you really can justify all the purchases by thinking that they're for the benefit of your baby. You can make yourself believe that these gadgets will make your child happier, smarter or healthier. Of course, that's mostly a crock of shit. But hey, we need to rationalize it somehow, don't we?

Obviously, there's no right or wrong. There are a few baby gadgets that have proven invaluable. There are several more that have proven to be useless. Trial and error will determine which ones work best for you.

I just think it's funny that, despite the technological advances of our time, I still have to hold my baby's butt right up to my nose and take a big old whiff in order to tell if she's pooped her diaper.

Cause and Effect

THEY say that babies who are breast-fed tend to have higher I.Q.s than those who are not.

However, having been a formula-raised baby, I always take umbrage with that statement. Anytime I hear it, I immediately turn to the BossLady and say, "I was only fed formula. Look how smart I am!" Of course, my lovely wife always retorts back, "Yeah, Einstein. But think how much smarter you'd be if you HAD been breast-fed." That usually shuts me up as I sit back and ponder the possibilites. Hell! Maybe if I'd been breast-fed, we'd have a cure for cancer by now! Or I'd have been able to prove Fermat's Theorem. At the very least, maybe I wouldn't lose my damn keys every week.

THEY also say that co-sleeping with your infant lowers the baby's risk of stress disorders and makes it more likely that they will grow up to be well-adjusted adults. Whenever I hear THIS statement, I always think back to that classic dialogue between those two great American parents, Marge and Homer Simpson...

Marge: I think we're going to need a bigger place.
Homer: No, we don't. I've got it all figured out. The baby can have Bart's room and Bart can sleep with us in our bed until he's 21.
Marge: Won't that warp him?
Homer: My cousin Frank did it.
Marge: You don't have a cousin Frank.
Homer: He became Francine in '76. Then he joined that cult. I think his name is Mother Shabubu now

My point is that THEY say a lot of things, don't they? "They" being the worldwide medical researchers who focus on pediatrics and childhood development. It's really incredible reading all the various child-rearing studies that are published annually. Pick any topic out of hat and you're sure to find multiple studies taking opposite stances, all supported by a modicum of supposedly quantifiable science. Take the prescribed path and your baby will be fine. But choose to raise your child differently and you'll be responsible for the consequences.

Upon further research, I've found that these studies are not relegated just to the U.S. I'm sure if you went to Siberia, you'd find plenty of articles like "Blubber Hats: Warmer Heads, Smarter Babies!" If in Nigeria, you can take part in the great "Goat Milk vs. Beetle Dung" debate.

I don't mean to disparage all this medical science. Any study focused on improving a baby's health or well-being certainly has a high degree of validity and a noble end cause. But somewhere along the line, I think we've lost a little perspective. Our C.S.I. obsession with NATURE and SCIENCE tends to obscure the beneficial effects of NURTURE and ENVIRONMENT. There's got to be a balance between the two.

All I'm saying is that I'd like to think that good parenting has the greatest influence on your child's development. Sit and talk to your child every day and your child will soak up the knowledge. Take him out to play in the park and he'll develop healthy lifestyle habits. Feed her nutritious foods and she's less likely to become diabetic. Take the video game away and replace it with a book. Am I wrong?

As a new parent, I find that all the medical information needs to be taken with a grain of salt. Let's not get carried away with it all. I'd love for the Peanut to be the first Asian-American woman on the Supreme Court. But if she doesn't drink enough breast milk or sleep in the same bed as us, is she going to end up as a stripper on the Jersey Turnpike?

I think not, my friends. I think not.

(But on the off chance that my daughter DOES end up being a stripper, I can assure you she's going to be the fucking smartest stripper on the Eastern Seaboard.)

If the Foo Shits, Wear it!

I can't wait until the Peanut starts eating solid foods. Because although I've always extolled the healthy benefits of breastfeeding, the BossLady and I continue to be amazed at the ever-changing consistency of our daughter's poop. I know I said once that I wouldn't write about the everyday aspects of childcare. But dammit, when it comes to baby poop, I just can't help myself! Sometimes I'll look in the Peanut's diaper and what I see will dispel many of the previous notions I had regarding the laws of physics and biology.

Since the birth of our daughter, we've been fairly diligent in keeping a sleeping, feeding and diaper diary. For parents-to-be, I highly recommend maintaining some sort of similar log or journal. It really helps you figure out patterns in behavior so when something is off kilter with your baby, you can refer back to the log to see if anything deviated from the normal routine.

Anyway, our journal is fairly scientific and uses our own coded glossary. This past weekend, we had some relatives over and one of them happened to pick up the diaper diary, flip through our notations and then ask, "Hey, guys. What does T.A.E. stand for?" The BossLady and I looked at each other and smiled, wondering whether we should reveal our secret acronymous code. Finally, we started laughing and explained to our relatives that T.A.E. stood for "TOTAL ASS EXPLOSION."

Yes, friends. Every few days, my daughter's ass completely explodes! Her viscous poo enthusiastically escapes the confines of the diaper; sometimes it flows upward like a volcano and sprays her entire backside. Other times, it migrates south and envelops the back of her pasty white thighs. Where the poo eventually lands is usually a total crap shoot (pun intended.) Needless to say, it's a mess to clean up. She gets it all over her clothes (sometimes making me contemplate whether we're better off burning them instead of washing them.) At times like this, feces-to-skin contact is rarely avoided and we stand dumbfounded in awe at the sheer volume of it all.

We quickly learned that diapers were not a "catch-all" solution (pun intended.) As first-time parents, this came as a big surprise to us. We had naturally thought that, by now, modern technology would have created a diaper capable of capturing all of a child's excrement. We didn't know that diaper success was measured on a completion percentage where 70% got you invited to the Pro Bowl and 80% got you into the Hall of Fame. Naturally, when we discussed this with other parents, they smiled quietly and told us that they were so glad when their kids started eating solid foods. And while the parents said that looking into their child's diaper and seeing an actual tiny mini-log of poop was completely surprising to them, they were so glad to be over the T.A.E.s.

See...Total Ass Explosions are they type of thing that they just don't teach you about in Lamaze or in the Baby Care & Feeding classes. I've yet to see an mention of it in any of the parenting literature. Why is that? Even though it's not immensely important or relevant, how could you NOT mention it if you're writing a book that has a whole chapter on infant bowel movements and changing diapers? After all, most baby books go into great detail about the meaning of your baby's poop based on its color or its consistency. Some of them even discuss the relevance of the poop's smell! So, after all that, why wouldn't you mention the occasional Total Ass Explosions? At least give it a footnote, man!

It just reaffirms my belief that I need to write a book about baby care and parenting for fathers. Not covering any of the important stuff. Just the stuff that they never tell you about. In fact, I'd write a whole chapter on baby poop...like how to change diapers between innings, how long a baby can really go without a fresh diaper, how to eat a sandwich while changing a diaper or what to do when the dog starts eating the baby's poop.

I don't know what I'd call the book but THAT chapter would be titled, "No Shit?"

There's no crying in baseball (or is there?)

Fatherhood has made me soft.

Don't get me wrong. Prior to the birth of my daughter, it's not like I was a stone-faced, cold-hearted neanderthal. And I certainly wasn't one of those beer-drinking, backwards baseball cap-wearing, date-raping frat boys. Nor was I ever one of those pseudo-tough, misogynistic, ego-driven wannabe playboys.

In fact, I've always been a fairly sensitive, deep thinking and self-aware kind of guy. I have a pretty high emotional I.Q. and generally have very healthy relationships with all those around me. And yes, I like gourmet food, fine clothing, and days at the spa. But make no mistake, people. I've always been a guy's guy, a real man's man. I've always worked hard, lived hard and played hard. I've always loved sports, thrived on competition and searched for adventure. I can eat a 32 oz. porterhouse in my sleep, wash it down with a bottle of scotch, smoke a pack of Marlboros, and wake up in the morning to play hoops all day. I drive fast, love classic Rock, and pee standing up. Hell, I can count the number of times I've cried in public on one hand...when I was at Shea Stadium and the Mets won the World Series in '86, while in the movie theater watching "The Champ", and during my 14 year-old cousin's funeral after he lost a long battle to leukemia. When I lost one of my best friends during 9/11, I cried everywhere and anywhere, all the time.

But now, my friends? I'm a withering willow of whimpering wussiness. Man, I cry at the drop of a hat now! I don't know what's come over me. I started crying tears of joy at the birth of my daughter 14 weeks ago and I haven't stopped since. It's not like I'm walking around and sobbing hysterically all the time. It's more like my eyes will immediately well up with tears if I hear anything even remotely sad or tragic in regards to children. For example, I can't even have cereal in the morning anymore because I can't stand looking at the missing kids on the side of the milk carton. Or when the BossLady tells me about the episode of Oprah highlighting the plethora of orphaned girls in China? Just hearing about that gets me all choked up and makes me want to jump on a plane and adopt all of them.

So, needless to say, hearing about the tsunami's effect on children is killing me! I'm using all my willpower not to have my paychecks sent to Save the Children via direct deposit. It's bad enough that every time I watch the news, I find myself grabbing my wallet and looking for the phone. But last night's televised Tsunami Aid was a major tearjerker. I think the broadcast was put together by the same people who produced "Rudy", "Hoosiers", and "Brian's Song." It was a good thing they showed live music in between all those human-interest sob stories. It gave me just enough time to choke on my Adam's apple, wipe my eyes with my sleeve and have another sip of scotch.

Anyway, what I'd like to know is...has fatherhood turned me into a blubbering wuss for good? or will my masculinity come back and I'll soon return to the days where I only tear up during a really good sports film? Please tell me, Internet. I need to know.

Fuhgeddaboutit!

Growing up in New York City, one learns very quickly that unless you are a very large and muscular man, creativity and wit are great weapons to have at one's side. A snappy comeback, some witty repartee or a little harmless banter can go a long way towards self-preservation. In places like New York City, it's safe to say that talking smack has been elevated to an art form. And nobody does it better than city folk. Here in NYC, talking smack is not a means of insulting other people. It's done solely for entertainment. Quite often, it's done as a sign of respect.

I bring this up because it seems some of you took my self-pimping in the previous post a little too seriously. C'mon, people. Lighten up! Get a sense of humor! Loosen up the belt and get your panties out of a bunch! As I've mentioned before, I love all the other Daddy blogs. I don't think I even need to mention again that Jay of ZeroBoss fame is my guru and Daddy blog idol. And as for Laid-Off Dad, I check his site 10 times a day and often leave comments commending his genius. Truly, he and his son have provided me with many hours of entertainment.

In all seriousness, my therapist says that my desire to win this award stems from the abandonment issues of my childhood. I know I don't talk about my childhood much but I was born in a very small Southern town. Raised in extreme poverty, I eventually lost my sight but was able to teach myself braille. I learned to play a few instruments, had some local success and eventually worked my way up to New York.

Oh wait...I take it back. That wasn't me. That was Ray Charles. Sorry! I always get the two of us confused. My therapist is working on that too!

Anyway, people. As I learned a long time ago, my humor isn't for everyone. But I've also learned that having a good sense of humor comes in handy when you become a parent. Patience may be a virtue...but laughter can be a lifesaver. So, I'm sorry if you don't dig MY humor. Feel free to shut the door on your way out. Thanks for stopping by.

"Dogs love me cause I'm crazy sniffable"

When I woke up this morning, I noticed that MetroDad was in 2nd Place for Best Daddy Blog over at the Best of Blog Awards. 2nd Place? What the fuck? Are you kidding me?

Yes, my friends, MetroDad has a fierce competitive spirit. I hate to admit it but it's true. Though I'm a sensitive, caring father of the new millenium, the old Alpha-Dog still lives inside me like a weekend warrior. To me, 2nd Place is better known as "1st Loser." And not to disparage the competition but I really can't fathom how I'm losing (unless some of my votes have hanging chads). I know the competition's blog design looks better than mine but what about the content? The only thing that comes to mind is something my man Mike D from the Beastie Boys once said,

"You've got the boomin' system but it's blastin' out doo doo
You think it's chocolate milk but it's watered down Yoohoo"

"I get it - I got it, I know it's good
The rhymes I write - you wish you would."

More than 2,000 visitors came here yesterday. I should have asked all of you to vote while you were over but I thought it might be rude because, for many of you, it was the first time we'd met. But did I mention how good-looking I thought you were? Seriously. And your ass looked great in those jeans. Oh wait, I'm sorry. It was MY ass that looked great in those jeans. But really, you looked damn good. Clearly, you've been working out and taking care of yourselves. And I love what you've done with your hair!

Alright...it's pretty clear I suck at kissing ass. That's probably why I've never worked as a corporate drone for some big company. For the past 10 years, the only person whose ass I've had to kiss is my boss. Oh shit, I forgot. I am my own boss. Damn, I look good today!

Anyway, the contest ends on Monday, the 17th. So for the next few days, I'm going to be pimping for your votes on a regular basis. After all, the first place winner gets a free re-design of this site (or as many of you have said, it would actually be a "design" because "re-design" implies that there was some sort of design in the first place.)

For those of you who are new to the site, here are some of MetroDad's golden oldies...

The Infamous Breast Milk Bet

My Wife, the Porn Star

So I put my ding-a-ling in her pee-pee hole?

Mini-vans are for women

Memo to my childless friends

Mary Poppins has no green card!

Bright Lights, Big City

Some posts are just for humor, some are more serious. Because here at MetroDad, we like to play both kinds of music...country AND western. Anyway, feel free to browse around. Then, when you're done, go vote here...

Vote for Best Daddy Blog!

Delivery!!!

As of today, I've been officially been a father for 14 weeks. On the one hand, it seems like a short lifetime ago that BossLady gave birth. On the other hand, I know that there's a long road ahead of us. But like they say...the journey can be just as enjoyable as the destination.

Anyway, I've learned a lot about fatherhood in a short period of time. I don't presume to be an expert (after only 14 weeks) but there are many things that I wished I'd known earlier. And from your e-mails, it seems that there are a lot of soon-to-be-dads out there who have discovered this blog while looking for some fathering advice. I'll try to share my learnings with you as I go through them so that the guys who are right behind me might be better informed.

That being said, here are some words of advice regarding childbirth that may not be covered in any of the pregnancy books you've been reading:

1. You're not Martin Scorsese or Francis Ford Coppola. Leave the video camera out of the delivery room. Enjoy the amazing beauty of the moment through your own eyes. There's nothing in the universe that compares to seeing your child's head pop out as she takes in that first gasp of air. It's awesomely life-affirming and you really don't want to witness it through a fucking viewfinder. Nothing says GEEK like fiddling around with a digicam while your wife is giving birth.

2. After your wife pushes out the baby, there's going to be some afterbirth pushed out as well. Afterbirth is basically your wife's placenta and the remains of her fetal membranes. In some cases, the afterbirth has been known to hit the floor with a giant SPLAT. Whatever you do, don't look at it and start staring! It looks a little like an alien fetus and will probably freak you out. Really, if you're a little squeamish and if you ever want to go near your wife's vagina again, don't look at it.

3. In case you don't know this, there's a good chance that your wife is going to shit all over the delivery table while she's pushing out the baby. It's natural and it happens to virtually all women. If you had to push a basketball out your ass, there's a good chance you'd shit too. Anyway, I know there's a good chance that nobody mentioned this to you. I'm telling you now. Don't act surprised when it happens. Be cool. (Let the record state that my wife, the BossLady, did NOT crap during delivery. Although we had discussed the possibility that it might happen prior to her delivery, I can wholeheartedly attest that she did NOT poop while pushing. Happy, honey?)

4. They have a very cool machine in the delivery room that can track your wife's contractions from beginning to end. The machine looks like a futuristic gadget straight out of the Sharper Image catalog. You'll find yourself fascinated by it. Resist the urge to stare at it and yell, "Woo hoo, honey. Here comes a big one!". Trust me. She knows.

5. Tipping at the hospital...good idea or tacky maneuver? If you're Asian, your wife's nurse is Asian and you're actually giving birth in Asia, then it MIGHT be ok to slip the nurse a fifty. Otherwise, I'd recommend not greasing the hospital staff. However, if you want to ensure that your wife gets top-notch treatment in the maternity ward, follow my lead. For the day staff, I gave the nurses some of the flowers that my wife received so that they could take them home. For the night shift, I would empty out the vending machines and bring them back huge piles of Oreos and cartons of milk. A little thoughtfulness went a long way towards making sure my wife was treated better than anyone else in the maternity ward.

6. If your conception of what a newborn baby looks like comes from Hollywood, you might be in for a big shock. Trust me. Most babies do not come out clean and pink. The Peanut had to be suctioned out with a vacuum so, for a solid 24 hours, she looked like a conehead. She also had jaundice so, between that and her conehead, she looked like a little banana. In a few cases, some babies are born completely covered in a very gross-looking, white pasty substance called vernix. Don't worry. It comes off after a wash. Everything that you think is weird is most likely very normal. The only time to be even slightly concerned is if the doctor delivers the child and screams, "For the love of Christ! What is that?" (Otherwise, you're ok.)

7. After your child is born, don't forget about your wife. Easy advice, eh? You'd be surprised at how many fathers I saw in the maternity ward who were spending all their time in the nursery while their wives were lying uncomfortably in bed. Don't be one of those guys. Make sure your wife gets everything and anything she needs. You'll have plenty of time to enjoy your child together later. But the last thing you want to do is make your wife feel like she's just a child-carrying vessel.

8. During the whole pre and post-labor phase, don't be a wussy. I don't care if you haven't slept in 3 days, you haven't eaten in 2 days or you haven't had time to take a crap for a day. Your head hurts? Your eyes are swollen? Your back is acting up? Tough shit, bro. This time's not about you. I only tell you this because you shouldn't expect to get any attention or sympathy. Don't ask for it. I can't tell you how annoying it is to hear fathers discuss how difficult labor was for them! Are you fucking kidding me?

For those of you about to go through the experience of childbirth, I hope this helps. If not, send me an e-mail and I'll give you your money back. And if there are any other parents out there (moms included) who would like to give some dads-to-be advice, feel free to leave a comment. Based on the e-mails I've been getting, I think these future Dads would appreciate it.

Media Madness!!!

It seems there's been a vast increase in traffic to this site over the past 1-2 weeks. In fact, my stat counter shows that I'm getting over 1,000 visitors per day. I'm pleased to have you here and I welcome you all with open arms.

Some of you may have found MetroDad via the BoB Awards. Others seem to have discovered the site from the vast media attention that the site has recently garnered from various national and regional publications.

In the past few weeks, MetroDad has been featured or mentioned in the following publications and articles:

DOG FANCY: "Stay-At-Home-Dogs...and the Dads Who Love Them"

THE ROBB REPORT: "How the Other Half Lives (Coping without Servants)"

LADIES HOME JOURNAL: "Is Your Husband an Alcholic? Take Our 10 Point Quiz!"

MEN'S HEALTH: "How to Lose That Pregnancy Weight!"

ESSENCE: "Why Black Don't Crack and Yellow Don't Mellow: Skin tips for the New Millenium"

VANITY FAIR: Annie Leibovitz's EXCLUSIVE photo spread of "Dads in the Hood"

NATIONAL REVIEW: "Hilary Clinton and the Breakdown of the Nuclear Family"

THE VILLAGE VOICE: "Fatherhood, Terrorism and the Liberal Media"

FIELD & STREAM: "Ford or Chevy?: A City Sissy Casts His Vote"

Furthermore, I've recently been contacted by Dan Rather's people. They're doing a CBS News segment on fathers with no military record. Right now, their research staff is trying to verify that I did in fact try to join the National Guard last week in order to avoid having dinner with my parents. Unfortunately, they have not yet been able to deny or confirm the existence of any such event. Stay tuned for additional information.

MetroDad...it's what's news!

Adieu, Ma Jeunesse! (Farewell, Youth!)

Not to be overly sappy here but I have to admit that parenthood has made me a better person. When the Peanut looks up at me and smiles, all I want to do is save the world and convince everyone to have children. That's a natural feeling for most new parents, isn't it?

But the birth of the Peanut has also forced me to face the twin peaks of Responsibility AND Maturity. Simply put, I'm a father now. And being a father means that I have to be THE ADULT. Though I'm 36 years old, I've never really thought of myself as the adult. Despite all the responsibilities in my personal life, I've always considered myself more of an overgrown kid. But now that I'm a father, I need to "set an example for the children." I also need to avoid putting myself at any personal risk that would jeopardize my ability to take care of my daughter.

That being said, I'm starting to realize that there are many things I've done in the past that can no longer happen again. Many of these vagaries can be attributed to the indiscretions of youth. But, off the top of my head, it's pretty safe to say that I'll never do the following again...

1. Spontaneously drive from Washington, DC to Graceland at 2:00 am in order to pay homage to The King.

2. Spontaneously drive from NYC to Philadelphia at 2:00 am in order to pay homage to Geno's Cheesesteaks.

3. Drive cross-country with only $75.00 in my wallet and a map of Motel 6 locations. (Did you know that you can write I.O.U.s at most of the nation's toll booths?)

4. Ski down the Italian Alps while absolutely drunk because you and your best friend decided it "wouldn't hurt to have a little early lunch and a few bottles of wine" on top of the mountain's peak at 10:00 am. It hurt.

5. Croon Frank Sinatra songs while standing on top of a car in Berkeley, CA at 3:00 am. Get thrown into a holding cell with one of my best friends. Spend the next 2 hours singing "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" and "We Shall Overcome" at the top of my lungs.

I'm sure that there are many other things that I won't be doing again now that I'm a father. And though a large part of that has to do with being a mature and responsible adult, an even larger part has to do with the fact that I need to be there for my daughter at all times...in every way, shape or form. I'm her protector and I can't take any careless risks that would prevent me from taking care of her.

I think a friend of mine said it best when we were skiing a few years ago; "when I look down a mountain now, I no longer see challenge or adventure. I see loss of income potential."

I don't miss the carefree, risk-filled days of my 20's. Like I'd always suspected, I can see how much more rewarding life is now that I'm in my 30's with a beautiful wife and child. Sure, waking up at 4:00 am to calm a fussy baby isn't a lot of fun. But when you've helped your infant daughter get through the night and she rewards you with a big smile? There are very few things in life as thrilling as that.

It's funny. Because although I don't miss those old days, it seems like they were just around the corner. But the reality is that I'm closer to being 40 than I am to being 25. Scary, eh? It's like the sign in the car says, "Objects in the mirror may appear closer than they are. Exercise caution."

Sound advice. But I want to hear from you, people. What will YOU never do again now that you're a parent and responsible for another human being?