MetroDad

Ch-Check It Out

The Supreme Mack Daddy of the Daddy blogs, Jay Allen of Zero Boss has apparently been getting crushed at his job working for the Evil Empire. So in a fit of what I would imagine to be job-related stress and massive sleep deprivation, Jay asked me whether I would kindly guest blog on his site for the day. Now, I'm not entirely sure what my exact reply was but I believe it was something to the effect of "Fuck yeah!"

See, on the one hand, my humble little site doesn't get nearly as much traffic as Jay's does so I figured it'd be nice to have a louder microphone on a bigger stage. But also, somewhere in the back of my devious mind, it felt like my parents were going out of town for the weekend and they were leaving me the keys to the car and the liquor cabinet.

The whole guest blogging thing feels so "Risky Business" to me. I'm honored that Jay has entrusted me with his site. And I'm going to try hard to leave it in the same condition it was before I got there. But metaphorically speaking, I hope he doesn't notice the crack in the Steuben egg. I guess sometimes, you've just got to say "what the fuck!"

Anyway, come by and visit me at Zero Boss. And leave a comment over there so I don't feel like I've done irreparable damage to Jay's site.

Brothers in Arms

Happy Father's Day to all my parenting brethren!!!

This being my first Father's Day, I'm understandably experiencing a slight case of sappiness. For those of you who came here expecting some of my occasional snarkiness, I'm afraid that I'm going to disappoint today. You see, on Friday, the awesome women at Peanut's daycare gave me a card when I came to pick up my lovely 8-month old daughter after work. They had fingerpainted my daughter's handprints all over a large piece of paper. On the top of the card, they wrote "Happy Father's Day." But on the bottom, they had written "These little hands hold all the love in the world for you." Oh man, I know my little baby didn't write out the card but I was so touched that I swear my eyes practically welled with tears. (I know, fatherhood has really fucking softened me up. But you knew this about me already, remember?)

So like I was saying, this is my first Father's Day. And whereas in the past, the day was merely a reason for me to buy my pops a steak dinner and give him a new putter or golf shirt, things are completely different today. Because although it may be selfish, today is the day that I celebrate how much I absolutely love being a father. I always thought that I would love having a kid and I've always loved being around children. But now, it's different. Fatherhood has changed me. I never realized that I had the capacity to love someone in the way that I love my daughter. I never knew that, in one singular moment, my entire life's priorities could change so quickly. I never imagined that being a father would become, by far, the most important aspect of my life. I never realized the amount of joy that I would get from one child's smile.

But most importantly, I'm proud of the fact that I think I'm turning into the father that I've always wanted to be. As regular readers of this blog know, I've always had a somewhat rocky relationship with my own father. There's a cultural/generational/personality gap that's made it tough to have the kind of relationship that I'd always hoped we'd have. After years of tumult, we've finally learned to coexist in a somewhat copacetic manner. But as my shrink says, the greatest fathers are usually those that had bad role models. Well, I hope so. Because I expect greater things out of my relationship with my daughter. And I know it all starts with me. I don't take fatherhood lightly. I think about it quite a bit. I read about it a lot. And I question myself at every step of the journey. Aside from being quite introspective about it, I'm always actively seeking out other people's advice. That's part of the reason for this blog. I like throwing out topics that are on my mind and getting some feedback from various perspectives.

Anyway...they say that "men who change diapers change the world." And while I'm pretty sure that a woman came up with that phrase, I do think there's a modicum of truth in it. Personally, I think it's a pretty interesting time to be a father now. I really dig the idea that we're more involved with our kids than previous generations of fathers seemed to have been. It's not always easy but, like they say, few things in life that are worth having come easy.

So to all my fellow dads out there? This Bud's for you. Enjoy the cheesy ties and giant bottles of cologne. Revel in the fingerpaint drawings, the homemade ashtrays and the handmade pencil holders. And while you may hear it from your kids. You may even hear it from your wives. Let me be the first guy to say to you...

Happy Father's Day! (Pretty fucking cool, isn't it?)

The Dingo Ate My Baby!!!

You know, I've always believed that a nation's language revealed a lot about its citizens.  And of all the world's langauges, I love what the American version of English says about us as a people.   

Firstly, no other language embraces the world as English does.  We adopt and borrow words from different cultures, just as we adopt and borrow different ideas and trends.  Did you know that the word "ketchup" came to us via Eastern China (where it actually meant fish brine?)  Did you know that more Americans eat salsa than ketchup these days?  How cool is that?    

And show me another language that can use the word "dog" as a noun, a verb AND an adjective?  And then have completely different meanings for the words "hotdog" and "hot-dog"? 

Did you also know that no other language has the sheer volume of words as English?  Did you know that there are fewer than 100,000 words in the French langauge but, according to OED, there are over 900,000 words in the English langauge? (Yeah, baby!  U.S.A.!  U.S.A.!)

Anyway, as an amateur lexicographer, I've always been amazed at the number of words created to describe our individual fears.  For example, we have...

Anuptaphobia- Fear of staying single.
Automatonophobia- Fear of ventriloquist's dummies or wax statues
Paraskavedekatriaphobia- Fear of Friday the 13th
Pteronophobia- Fear of being tickled by feathers.
Spheksophobia- Fear of wasps (the animals, not the people)
Ichthyophobia- Fear of fish

Anyway, I bring all of this up because Best Life magazine just published the results of a poll they took regarding the Greatest Fear that Men have regarding their Preteen/Teenage Child.  Here were the results:

He/she will be killed or seriously injured in a car accident:    30%
He/she will abuse drugs or alcohol:    23%
He/she will not succeed in school:    19%
He/she will become sexually active too soon:    17%
He/she will be greatly affected if we get divorced:     4%
He/she will hate me:    3%
He/she may be gay:    2%
He/she will not practice safe sex:    2%

It's ironic to me that, since becoming a father, I've developed a whole new set of fears.  I've never really been one to fear anything in my life.  I'm not afraid of challenges or confrontations, and I'm always willing to try anything once.  But bringing a new life into the world certainly changes all that in a hurry.  As the Peanut gets older, I'm sure I'll be facing all of the above fears soon enough.  But right now, my little 7-month old girl needs the protection of her parents.  Because she's so helpless, I sometimes find myself thinking about all the possible fears that I have for her.  Some of them are absolutely inane like my fear that she'll be eaten by a dingo, my fear that she'll be kidnapped by a pack of ninjas or my fear that she'll grow up to be a stripper.

But more seriously, what about the fears that I have about the Peanut's safety, her health, her education and the state of the world?   Really, this is just the tiny tip on top of the tip of the iceberg's tip.  The actual number of irrational fears that I have about raising a child is pretty much endless.  And in some sort of apparently misguided attempt to soothe my fears, the shrink says that these worries will pretty much last forever.  (Great!  That advice helps a lot. Can I have my fucking money back, please?)  I've surprisingly chilled out a little bit over the past few months.  But at the beginning of BossLady's pregnancy, I was a fucking lunatic.  I'm getting better so I assume that's just part of one's maturation as a parent.  I guess the sooner one accepts that the worrying will never go away, the sooner one can deal with the realities of watching your child grow up.  Every stage will bring a new set of fears.  Great! 

As the wise man once said, "we've got nothing to fear but fear itself." 

But then again, the wise man never had a daughter or met my friend KH.  My buddy KH, the father of 2 boys, recently dropped a pearl of wisdom on me.  He said, "You know.  When you have a son, you only have to worry about one penis.  But when you have a daughter, you have to worry about ALL of them." 

Thanks, dude!  But since my daughter is only 7-months old, for now, I've got enough to worry about. I'm going to put off my fears about her actually being old enough to date...for at least another year or two.

So what about you?  What fears (rational or not) do you have?  about your kids or anything else?  C'mon, Internet.  An inquiring mind wants to know. 

Happy Mother's Day, BossLady!

Well, BossLady...

It's your first Mother's Day!!! Can you believe that? Although we're goofy enough to celebrate anniversaries like the first day we met (the "meetaversary"), the first day we started dating and the day that you agreed to marry me, I have to say that the importance of Mother's Day has leapfrogged our other celebratory dates. Why? Simply because you're such a fantastic mother and have taken to it like a duck to water.

And I think the duck analogy is a good one. Because I've always thought that great parenting is a lot like being a duck. Everything may look smooth on the surface but underneath it all, you've got to paddle like hell. And ever since the Peanut was born seven months ago, you've proven yourself to be a championship paddler.

As the saying goes, the proof is in the pudding. The Peanut is a wonderfully happy and well-adjusted little child. Your mother's milk has provided her with perfect health. And your generous love has given her such a happy spirit. Seriously, I'm surprised the kid's face doesn't crack, she smiles so much. And though I know the Peanut and I have an extremely close and special bond, her face always lights up when you walk into the room. When I'm playing with her on the floor, she always has to look up every once in awhile to make sure that you're still in the room. And needless to say, on those very rare occasions when the Peanut gets a little fussy, nothing calms her down like being in your arms and hearing you sing to her.

It's so funny to me that it was only 5 years ago when you told me that you weren't really sure you wanted to have kids. You were so worried that it would be a deal-breaker for our relationship. I know this was because we were having such a great time together. We were free to travel whenever we wanted at a moment's notice. We could stay up late talking, laughing or making love. And then we could sleep in the next day until noon. We'd have endless dinners out on the town all the time, either by ourselves or with friends (was there a sushi chef in NY who didn't know us by face?) Then, there were the weekly movies, the 5-hour karaoke bar marathons, the cocktail parties, and the spontaneous weekend trips to Paris. Remember when we actually used to go out clubbing?

But now...life is different. The addition of the Peanut to our family has certainly altered our lifestyle. And though I sometimes miss some of the freedoms of our past, I wouldn't trade our current life for anything in the world. I couldn't be happier than I am right now. And as for you? I never had any doubts. All the traits that make you a great wife, lover and friend also make you a great mother. The Peanut and I have talked about it over the past few months and we both agree...you're the bomb! So happy Mother's Day, honey! You're a natural!

Love,
Moi

(p.s. And a very happy Mother's Day to all you other moms out there. No matter how much respect and appreciation is thrown your way, I know you all deserve much more. And though I tend to shun the Hallmark-created holidays, this is one that I think is well-deserved. So I hope today you get all the love and recognition that you're entitled to. Happy Mother's Day!)

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court

This weekend, the MetroDad family is leaving the safe confines of Manhattan to embark on a journey to the Midwest.  One of our friends is getting married in Indianapolis on Saturday so BossLady, the Peanut and I have decided to make a long weekend out of it. 

Now, contrary to what one might expect from this denizen of the urban jungle, I'm actually a huge fan of the Midwest.  Yes, I've experienced Southern hospitality.  I've enjoyed the Frontier friendliness of the Wild West.  And I lived in northern California for years so I know all about Pacific-coast passivity.  But for me?  I'll take the Midwest any day of the week.  There's a genuinely wholesome and sincere niceness about Midwesterners that I always look forward to experiencing again.  Maybe I'm just a cynical New Yorker but, in a way, Midwesterners always remind me of those really nice but naively innocent kids at camp...the boys who would never try a cigarette, the girls who never let you kiss them.  I love that about them! 

It's funny because the BossLady always makes fun of me for being a Manhattan snob.  And I have to admit that she's probably right.  When we were looking for an apartment years ago, I refused to even consider any of the outer boroughs.  Even now, I venture into Queens only to watch my beloved Mets, eat Korean food or go to the airport.  And the only time I ever visit Brooklyn is for my bi-annual visits to the world's greatest steakhouse.   But though I may be a Manhattan snob and shun the outer boroughs, I have nothing but the warmest feelings for my fellow citizens in "that whole middle part of the country place." 

Coming back from any visit to the Midwest, I always feel like a nicer person.  Maybe it's due to the fact that day-to-day life there doesn't involve being shoved on the subway, getting cursed at on the streets or spending 20 minutes looking for a taxi.  Dinner reservations don't need to be made a month in advance and road rage seems more like an aberration than a way of life.  Unlike in other parts of the country, I always felt that Midwesterners were better able to appreciate the differences in people's lives.  They seem to be less judgmental but, at the same time, moderately progressive.  Also, aside from their general kindness, I always felt that Midwesterners were great at making you feel as if you were home.  They truly are hospitable people.  I love that about them.  In fact, I like a lot of things about them.  And while I might not be able to put my finger on it exactly, I know I always enjoy spending time there and I always look forward to going back. 

I'll tell you a brief story about my father that might help explain why I think Midwesterners are the paragons of American idealism.  Back in 1949, my father was essentially a street urchin on the streets of Korea.  As a teenager, he had run away from home when his father informed him that since he was going to be a farmer, there was no use in continuing his education.  My father, not wanting to live the life of a farmer and more than a little tired of getting his ass kicked by his father every day, decided he had no choice but to leave.  Therefore, he became a teenage runaway.  When the Korean War broke out, the South Korean government rounded up all the teenage street urchins and shanghaied them into the armed forces.  My father was able to avoid them for weeks by hiding in the fields.  But he was starving and eventually he needed to get some food.  When he came out of the fields, he was caught and immediately forced to fight for the U.S. Army.  Within 4 years, he actually rose through the ranks and ended up earning a Silver Star for his actions.  But then the war ended.  The U.S. troops were pulling out of Korea and my father was going to be forced to fend for himself again on the streets of Seoul.  However, a kind and generous U.S. general from the Midwest took pity on my young father and decided he was going to do everything in his power to help him out.  He arranged for my father to come to Iowa and become a U.S. citizen.  My father was to live with an elderly woman in Des Moines and attend Drake University on an army scholarship.  For my father, it's safe to say that this was a seminal life-altering event.  At the time, he barely spoke any English.  He'd never had a truly formal education.  And he didn't have a single penny to his name.  It must have been like landing on an alien planet for him.  And though he struggled mightily and suffered deeply, he persevered and has achieved great success here.  But without the kind-hearted generosity of a handful of Midwesterners, he (and subsequently I) would not be where he is today.  Not only did they save his life but also they gave him the opportunity for a better one.   

What more could one ask for?  God bless the Midwest!

Mystery Guest Blogger

MetroDad will be out of town for awhile on business. And since nature abhors a vacuum, I've decided to enlist a guest blogger, Poppa Large, to cover for me while I'm away. Poppa Large is a brand-new father with plenty of hilarious thoughts on pregnancy, childbirth and parenting. And equally important, he's a fantastic writer with an excellent command of language (what? you think I would leave the keys to the car with someone who dangled his participles?)

Anyway...though Poppa Large and I have never formally met, he sent me several e-mails when he found out that his wife was pregnant and we subsequently started up a friendly correspondence. Unlike most men who find my site when their wives become pregnant (by googling "giant pregnancy boobs," "crazy hormonal wife," or "emotional rollercoaster ride"), Poppa Large seemed to actually believe that I had some real parenting advice to offer. HA! Being a relatively new father, I truly don't consider myself an expert in dispensing parenting advice. But since the Peanut was born several months before Poppa Large's own daughter, I can only equate our relationship as being similar to the one where a guy is walking in the forest, falls into a foxhole and yells upwards into the sky, "Watch your step, fellas! I never saw that one coming!"

So, without further ado, please give a warm welcome to Poppa Large!

The Good Doctor

Earth receive an honored guest;
William Yeats is laid to rest.
Let the Irish vessel lie,
Emptied of its poetry.

Time that is intolerant
Of the brave and innocent,
And indifferent in a week
To a beautiful physique,

Worships language and forgives
Everyone by whom it lives;
Pardons cowardice, conceit,
Lays its honors at their feet.

Time that with this strange excuse
Pardoned Kipling and his views,
And will pardon Paul Claudel,
Pardons him for writing well.

-- W. H. Auden, from "In Memory of W.B. Yeats"

When George Plimpton, the elegant gentleman and participatory journalist, passed away a little over a year ago, I was greatly saddened by America's loss.  If the goal of life is to leave no stone unturned, then George lived as rich a life as any one of us could ever dream of.  Here was a man who read Plato in the original Greek, sparred with Muhammad Ali, sailed with John F. Kennedy, went to training camp with the Detroit Lions and, in his spare time, founded The Paris Review.  As a man and as a journalist, Plimpton was a lion. 

And now we've lost Hunter S. Thompson. 

Best known for his hard-living lifestyle and gonzo journalism, Thompson was more than just a cultural icon.  He was the spirited voice of the counter-culture that questioned authority.  As a writer, he was a trailblazer and a literary legend.  Following Plimpton's lead, he not only was one of the so-called fathers of the New Journalism but he was also one of the first journalists to impart himself into his stories.  In many instances, it was hard to tell where the fiction ended and the reality began. 

I first discovered Hunter S. Thompson when I was 14 years old.  I'll never forget reading "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas."  I didn't know what to make of it but I certainly knew that I'd never read anything like it.  And I was hooked.  From there on, I devoured the rest of his writings and became an ardent and life-long fan.  As a young boy, I'd wait eagerly for the latest issue of Rolling Stone or Esquire to arrive, hoping that Thompson would have a new piece in that month's issue.  But though his flame was bright and constant, his writing was often sporadic.  And though it may have driven his fans and editors crazy, the wait was always worth it.  Even today, I still have clippings of articles he'd written more than 20 years ago. 

Mourning the loss of this great American writer, I've been perusing many of the vast homages, tributes and obituaries that are circulating online.  However, of all of them, I think one of the most poignant happens to be written by Tom Wolfe.  His remembrance of Thompson sums up all that will be missed about America's misanthropic man of letters.      

Rest in peace, Doctor.  We'll have some Wild Turkey tonight and fire off the shotguns in your honor.  Don't take shit from anyone. 

Long live the high priest of Gonzo. 

Pater familias

As you can probably tell from this website's design (which may best be described as a pumpkin tossed onto a pile of shit), I'm relatively new at this blogging thing. I've only really been blogging for a few months. Before that, I didn't even know what a blog was. I discovered them by accident when my lovely wife, the BossLady, became pregnant and I wanted to find a community of like-minded fathers and fathers-to-be.

Now don't get me wrong. Although I bought my wives off the Internet, I've never really had much desire to meet my fellow citizens on-line in the much-talked about "internet community." I'm usually more of a face-to-face kind of guy. I like seeing whether people shake hands firmly and look you straight in the eye or whether they have one of those sweaty, limp handshakes and can only stare at their own feet. Being a stickler for good manners, I also like to meet people in person to see whether they have decent social graces. Do they hold the door open for women? Will they say "bless you" when I sneeze? Do they have the decency to understand the merits of a courtesy flush? Nothing pisses me off more than rude people.

Anyway, what the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah...my search for a community of like-minded fathers. Well, at first, it didn't quite work out as planned. Everyone told me that I'd meet people at Lamaze class, Infant CPR or at Baby Care & Feeding.  Maybe even in Fatherhood 101. Since I was taking so many parenting classes, everyone figured I was sure to meet some like-minded fathers somewhere!  But unfortunately I didn't. Maybe it was karma. Maybe it was bad luck. But, for whatever reason, I ended up meeting the most random group of fathers-to-be that you could ever imagine. First, half the guys were completely uninterested in any of the classes and were clearly only there because their wives had threatened them. Second, more than a few of the other guys seemed generally interested in being fathers but were so mild-mannered that you could barely hear them. Anyway, those were generally not my kind of guys.

From there, things tended to get even stranger. I met one guy in Lamaze whose parents were 60's radicals. He had spent most of his life as a fugitive from the law. I thought he was really cool but then he overheard me calling him Little Nikita and our friendship was over before it began. Another guy I thought was cool was an actor/bartender/contractor. For those of you living outside of Manhattan, this means that he was a bartender. Locally, we call people like this "/slashes/" and I didn't think it would be a very good idea for me to befriend a bartender while my wife was pregnant. You know. That whole "lead me not into temptation" thing. The only other guy who had friend potential was this really cool tattooed and multi-pierced lighting designer of Off-Broadway shows. We hung out for awhile but I don't think I was cool or hip enough for him (and you have no idea how much it pains me to say that.)

Anyway, for the most part, the only thing that I seemed to have in common with most of these guys was that we'd impregnated our wives somewhere around December 31, 2003. Not much of a bonding connection.

So it was in search of a more like-minded community of fathers and fathers-to-be that I discovered blogs. I was searching for guys who, at first glance, might never have been mistaken for dedicated and committed fathers but yet were guys who were serious about being truly great fathers and, most importantly, still retained a sense of humor about their lives. I was seeking guys who had enjoyed the freedom of not being a parent but were now ready to embark on a new journey and most of all, were guys who I could either learn from or share common experiences with.

So turning to the Internet, I began my search. And did I find the kind of guys I was looking for? In short...absolutely not! What I found was an avalanche of mommy blogs, one after the other. The number of mommy blogs actually seemed endless. It didn't matter whether you could spell correctly or understood even the most basic nuances of proper grammar, every mother in the world seemed to have their own blog. Sometimes, the minutiae of it all could choke a horse. But you know what? I literally (ok..maybe just figuratively) read EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM.  (Here, the casual reader may very well ask, "Well really, MetroDad. Surely you jest.  In actuality, just how many mommy blogs did you truly read?" To which this author humbly replies, "Let's just say this, my friends. I even read the fucking knitting ones.")

But eventually, some great mommy blogs turned me on to some cool fathering blogs. Like the red-headed step-children of the internet, the community of fathers who blog about fatherhood as a theme is disquietingly near extinction. In comparison to the number of mommy bloggers out there, the number of fathers doing the same is so paltry that they're actually difficult to locate. But, like wild boars sniffing in shit for black truffles, if you look hard enough, you'll find real treasures.  And so it was in my quest to find my own Fathers of the Round Table.

By looking around incessantly, I discovered a group of really cool and GREAT fathers...guys like the Zero Boss, Laid-Off Dad, DaddyTypes, and Human Writes.  From there, I met guys like Genuine, modern day dad and Daily Yak.  And though I'd never met any of them, I could surmise from their writing that these were my kinds of guys. They talked openly and honestly about what it meant for them to be fathers. They wrote of the highs and, equally important, they didn't shy away from discussing the lows.

So I started this blog to join in the conversation with these gentlemen. And in a Haley Joel Osmet, Pay It Forward sort of way, I seem to have similarly been discovered by a great group of future like-minded fathers. For example, I've recently "met" Brandon over at Brain Dump, who I'm sure I know from a past life one way or the other and whose wife is pregnant for the first time.  Short Story Dude is an expectant father who continues to crack me up on daily basis. Then, there's my long-lost, hip-hop loving, Asian step-brother Oliver over at O-Dub, whose wife just gave birth to a beautiful new daughter this week. And similarly, I've also met a few new dads who have entered the blogging world recently to document their own journeys into fatherhood; guys like fellow New Yorker Ideashak, more diapers, and F-Bomb. 

More than anything, I wish them all the best and look forward to having them joining in the conversation.  So whether you're a new dad, a dad-to-be or a slightly-used dad, go check these guys out.  We need more guys writing about fatherhood out there.   

And while you're at it, guys?  Leave me a comment so I know you're out there.  Otherwise, I might feel like I'm talking to myself again and my therapist will have to up the dosage.

Feliz Cumpleanos, Jesus!

Happy Birthday, Jesus!

And to all the rest of you, I wish you and your families a very Merry Christmas! May the holiday season bless you with love, health, hope and charity.

Warmest regards,
MetroDad, BossLady & the Peanut

(Now, unless you're Jewish or Muslim, turn off the damn computer and go spend some time with your family! It's Christmas!)

Hellooooo, Ladies!

After checking my stat counter, the comments section and my e-mails, it's become abundantly clear that my readership is made up ALMOST ENTIRELY OF WOMEN! Either that, or it's true that men don't surf the internet for anything but porn. Or perhaps they just don't read. Anyway, it's surprising because I originally started this blog in the hopes of reaching out and sharing parenting experiences with new fathers.

But you know what, Ladies? It's their loss. Many of you have been writing me and saying that you enjoy hearing things from a "guy's perspective." Or that you imagine I'm only saying the things that your husbands are afraid to admit. Well, ladies. If that's the case, then today's your lucky day. Because due to the fact that virtually NO men seem to be reading my site, I'm going to come clean and tell you what we're all really thinking. Some might say I'm pandering to my audience. And you know what? They're fucking right! And while the fathers out there have been relatively silent, you ladies have been with me since I started this blog so you deserve to know the truth. So in no particular order, here are what your husbands (or significant others) are secretly thinking...

1. We're having a really fun time living with a breast-feeding woman who has enormous tits. It makes us feel like we're in our own little porn movie. But really? It'd be even funner if we were allowed to touch them.

2. Yes, we're both tired and exhausted from the lack of sleep. And yes, we're way too tired to even contemplate making love. But those jokes about a little oral sex? They're not really jokes. They're more like trial balloons.

3. The reason that I'm being so cheerfully helpful this weekend (cleaning the house, changing the diapers, waking up at 4:00 am to feed the baby, cooking meals for the family, and raking the lawn) is because sometime, over the next few days, I'm going to ask you whether it's alright for me to go out drinking with the guys on Friday. Your memory of me being so helpful is still going to be fresh in your mind so I figure I'll have my best chances of success at this time. It's an old Jedi mind trick.

4. Neither one of us has had a baby before. We've both taken the same classes and read the same books. So how come you're the bigger expert at parenting? Stop gatekeeping and pointing out my mistakes. As long as poop doesn't come flying out the diaper, the diaper's working. As long as the baby stays warm, it doesn't matter that her socks don't match. The only reason I'm biting my tongue and not saying anything is because I REALLY want to go out drinking with the guys next Friday.

5. When you're not around, we teach the baby funny phrases. When she burps, we teach her to say, "mm mmm. them's some good eats!" When she farts, we teach her to say "hey! who stepped on the duck?" And when she poops, we teach her to say "I just dropped the kids off at the pool. How 'bout some more grub?" We do this mainly for our own entertainment and also because we think the baby's too young to really pick up on these phrases. Of course, we could be wrong. In that case, we'll just say she learned it from watching TV.

6. When you're not at home, we're also not quite as thorough when it comes to baby care and cleaning. Sure...when you're watching us, we clean every nook and cranny, lather the baby in Balmex, Vaseline and baby powder, and we fasten the diaper securely. But when you're not around? We rip off the dirty diaper, wipe her down quickly, spit on each cheek, slap her ass, and put a new diaper on faster than you can say, "Welcome back to tonight's game of the week, folks!"

7. That gigantic shit-eating grin you see on our faces when you walk in the door? It's because we managed to change the baby's diaper during the commercial break and didn't miss a single second of the game. It was a new personal record and we're beaming with pride! We can't wait to tell our friends! Yeah, baby!

8. When we're outside with the baby and we're babbling nonsense or singing corny songs loudly to the child, it's not because we're trying to embarass you in public. It's because we're absolutely in love with our child and this is our secret way of letting the world know it. By making fools out of ourselves in public, we're broadcasting the fact that we'll do anything to please our baby regardless of how uncool or ridiculous we may look...but we also enjoy any opportunity to embarass you in public.

9. Your hormones have been kicking into overdrive since the first trimester. We thought they'd mellow out after the baby was born but apparently we were completely mistaken. Having done some research on the internet, we've learned that the emotional rollercoaster ride is going to slow down eventually. But for now? You've really got to stop crying everytime you see that AT&T commercial. After all, it's like the 20th time you've seen it already! Get a grip, woman! And can we please stop bawling every time you see a missing child on the side of a milk carton? You're really making it impossible to enjoy a bowl of cereal anymore!

10. Back to the sex thing again. We know you're exhausted. We know your breasts are killing you. We feel for you. Really, we do. But just to let you know. Whenever you get in the mood again? We're ready.

Ladies...feel free to comment.
Gentlemen...let me at least know you're out there. (If not, I might as well make this into a weekly column)