MetroDad

Diary of a Single Dad

I'll never forget when my friend Sarah sat me down many years ago to lecture me about my relationships with the opposite sex.

"Do you know how many girlfriends you'd have if you shut your mouth? You're smart, sexy, funny, caring and interesting. You read more than anyone I know and you've traveled all over the world. However, your constant need to entertain yourself is your Achilles' heel. You've got to learn to shut up. Also, it would help if you didn't have such an obvious indifference to whether people liked you or not. Idiot!"

At first, I was shocked by her honesty but then I slowly realized that her points were completely valid. I did need to work on how I related to other people.

That lasted about two days.

Look, I know I can sometimes come off as a sarcastic prick who tends to use humor as a defense mechanism and frequently finds himself lapsing under the Mendoza line into the bush leagues of unintentional rudeness. At the same time, I think I may have some form of Tourette's that has removed the filters between my brain and my mouth. 

But it's not that I don't like people. It's just that certain events have made me poignantly aware of how short life is and that I shouldn't waste time with shallow idiots who make the Jonas brothers sound like Truman's counsel of Wise Men.

Is it so wrong that I'd rather be alone than spend time with humorless people lacking in intellect, emotion, empathy or character? 

I was thinking about this recently when it suddenly struck me that empirically I am a 41-year-old single father with a 5-year-old daughter.

Holy crap!

I'm an old dude with a kid and a weird sense of humor.

Ok, maybe I'm not old but I'm definitely ringing the buzzer on middle age.

Part of the problem is that in my mind I'm a much younger man. Unfortunately, I'm not. This, in and of itself, wouldn't be a big deal if not for the fact that I would like to get married again and possibly have more kids.

And since there's no way that I'm going to date outside my own age range, I'm thinking that I might have to start displaying a little more maturity than I did in my younger years.

Recent conversations with women are convincing me that this may be much harder than I realized and there remains a fairly decent chance that I will die alone.

Conversation No. 1

Woman: "Do you like to read books?

Me: "Immensely. Why?  Are you reading anything interesting these days?"

Woman: "Yes! I just finished Twilight. I loved it!"

Me: "Me too! Didn't you like totally cry when Dumbledore died at the end?"

Postmortem analysis: "As a general rule, I don't date women who read children's books."

Conversation No. 2

Me: "Wow. You sure like flossing your teeth."

Woman: "Yes, I do it after every meal. Don't you floss your teeth?"

Me: "Religiously."

Woman: "Every single day?"

Me: "Nah. Just Christmas and Passover."

Postmortem analysis: "At the time, I just thought it was funny. However, friends tell me I was being glib and dismissive. Does it really matter? Could I ever be with a woman who was so obsessed with flossing that she did it publicly after every single meal?  I think not."

Conversation No. 3

Me: "Actually, I always thought WWJD meant 'what would Jesus drive?'"

Woman: "Cute. Well, what kind of car do you think Jesus would drive?"

Me: "I don't think Jesus drives. He just rides in the back of a giant Escalade."

Woman: "Why an Escalade?"

Me: "Because everyone says Jesus is their homeboy and all the homeboys I know drive Escalades." 

Woman: "Don't you think Jesus would be more environmentally conscious?"

Me: "When you roll with a large entourage, higher emission standards are generally subordinate to the need for third-row seating."

Woman: "Jesus rolls with an entourage?"

Me: "Yeah, those 12 guys following him who keep asking him to turn water into wine."

Woman: "You're not a religious or spiritual man, are you?"

Postmortem analysis: "I know. It's hard to believe I'm 41, isn't it?"

It's interesting being single at the age of 41.

When I was younger, I dated vastly different kinds of women because I wanted to expose myself to a diaspora of individual personalities. Now that I'm older, I tend to find myself far more selective. Or maybe the proper word is discerning.

Nick Hornby once said that it was no good pretending any relationship has a future if your record collections disagree violently or if your favorite films wouldn't even speak to each other if they met at a party.

A small part of me tends to agree with this sentiment. Especially at my age, the idea of being in a relationship with someone who shares my interests and similar perspective on life is warmly comforting. I tend to be very passionate about the things I love so there's a large part of me that wants to be with a woman whom when I read a great book, hear an amazing song, watch a deeply moving film or discover a new restaurant, I can run up to her excitedly and yell, "Look what I found! This is US!"

On the other hand, doesn't every couple start off by talking about all the things they have in common? And if the relationship doesn't last, don't you just end up thinking about all the ways you were so different? More importantly, isn't life much more interesting being with someone who not only has different interests but also brings a different perspective to life?

Does anyone have the answers to these questions?

When it comes to the subject of compatibility, I confess to being as confused as I have ever been.  We get together with people because they're the same or because they're different, and in the end we break up with them for exactly the same reasons.

Now granted, there are many other aspects besides compatibility that are important to any healthy relationship. However, when you're single and thinking about whom you'd like to date, compatibility tends to take on a heavier weight. 

Honestly, I don't know what the future brings for me and I'll confess that there are times when this uncertainty makes me a tad nervous. I've always been fairly good at meeting women. At the same time, I've always been fairly good at being alone.

Maybe a little too good. 

While I am an avowed romantic who firmly believes that no man is an island, I also find myself thinking more and more at this age that perhaps the ideal goal of a relationship between two people isn't a merging of two individuals. On the contrary, maybe the healthiest long-term relationships accept that, even between the closest people, infinite distances exist and the key to happiness is to not only wholly love someone but also to be comfortable with the great expanse that inherently lies between you.

Then again, as another female friend tells me, maybe I just think too damn much.  

What say you, my friends?

Life is short

Part of being a Met fan is having your heart broken. 

Every spring brings glimmers of hope and optimism.  And every autumn tends to bring sadness and disappointment. 

However, I'll never stop rooting for my beloved Mets.  I was born under the shadows of Shea Stadium in Flushing, Queens and my heart will always belong to the Mets until the day I die. 

As many fans understand, seeing one's team in the World Series may only happen once in a lifetime.  The Chicago Cubs last appeared in the Series in 1945. They last won a championship in 1908.  How many Cubbie fans have lived and died since then? 

So when the Mets made the division series and World Series tickets went on sale, I knew I had to be there.  Thankfully, my beautiful wife understood how important this was to me.  She sold an arm, a leg, one of her kidneys, and the naming rights to all of our future children in order to buy me an early birthday present...the now-worthless souvenir ticket that you see here.

Tied at 3 games apiece in a best-of-7 series, down two runs with the bases loaded and two outs...that's about as close as you can possibly come to making it to the Series.  But with a single strikeout, the Mets season ended.  As the saying goes, close only counts when it comes to horseshoes and hand grenades. 

Oh well...there's always next season.

Mommy Dearest

Over the past six months, the Peanut has been treating me as if I were the living embodiment of Christmas, Elmo, and an all-you-can-eat ice cream buffet. 

When she woke up in the morning, she demanded that I be the one who got her out of the crib, changed her diaper, and dressed her.  When she hurt her knee at the playground, it was me that she always came running to.  When she was hungry, only I was allowed to prepare her dinner and feed her.  And every day, all she ever wanted to do was hang out with me. 

Man, is there any greater feeling than the complete and unadulterated love of a child?  I was on top of the world.

While I felt badly for the BossLady, I couldn't help but take some pleasure and satisfaction from the fact that the Peanut's universe revolved around me.  In some way, I felt that this was perfectly natural and actually SHOULD be the state of things. 

After all, I was the one who came home early every day to play with the Peanut.  I was the one who read to her before bath time.  I was the one who made all the fun bubbles in the tub.  And I was the one who cooked her meals and fed her every night.  Why shouldn't I be her favorite parent?  It made perfect sense to me.

Internet...those days are over!

Right now, the Peanut's sun, moon and stars all revolve around the BossLady.  It's mama THIS or mama THAT.  Without a doubt, mommy is the new and improved center of the Peanut's universe and she wants absolutely nothing to do with daddy any more.  All of sudden, I'm like the bubonic plague.  Now, she actually pushes me out of the way so that she can go hug and kiss the BossLady! 

The whole transition occurred so quickly, I'm not even sure what happened.  My head is still spinning from the demotion. 

The hardest part of dealing with my recent change of status is the fact that I am a seriously competitive bastard.  I don't like being second in anything.  To quote the famous faux-Nascar philosopher Rickey Bobby, "If you ain't first, you're last."

Now, I'm man enough to admit that I was filled with jealousy, confusion, envy, bitterness and bewilderment that I had suddenly been displaced as the Peanut's #1 fan.  When the fuck did they send out THAT memo?  Man, this was horrible!  I didn't like these new feelings at all and I was ready to break out ALL the tricks to remedy the situation quickly...giant piles of chocolate chip cookies, huge fountains of strawberry milk, unlimited quantities of Elmo juice.  Hell, I even started surfing the internet to try and find the nearest pony dealer. 

Thankfully, I regained my senses.  After all, if parenthood has taught me anything, it's that everything I do is for the benefit of my daughter.  So, once again, I realized that I needed to change my perspective and alter my way of thinking.  I couldn't allow my sense of competitiveness to manifest itself.  If I followed that evil path, I'd end up doing something destructive like bribing the Peanut for her affections (a path I definitely didn't want to go down.)  I also couldn't allow bruised feelings or parental snubs to alter my opinions, my emotions, or my feelings about her.  If I couldn't handle her little baby snub now, how would I deal later when she's an obnoxious teenager chucking telephones at me and yelling that I'm "the world's worst father?"  Clearly, I needed to get a better emotional perspective on things. 

Besides, it wasn't that long ago that BossLady had been in MY shoes.  And, sure, I tried to understand what my lovely wife was saying about not feeling loved by the Peanut.  It's just that, like going to watch the Knicks play, you don't really know how horrible the situation is until you see for yourself. 

Of course, I probably didn't help matters for the BossLady by constantly running around the apartment with the Peanut on my shoulders yelling, "I'm #1!  I'm #1!"

However, there was an instance last week when I had a true moment of clarity.  The Peanut, once again, snubbed me and quickly ran over to give the BossLady a giant two-handed neck hug (always the best kind.)  Then, the Peanut planted a big, wet, sloppy kiss on the BossLady's cheek.  As I witnessed the two of them sitting together, holding hands and singing, I saw a look of sheer joy on my beautiful wife's face that I'd never seen before.  It seemed as if every fiber of her being had been filled with the rapture that came from knowing that the Peanut's universe now revolved around her and that her daughter really, truly loved her!  The moment may have only lasted for a nanosecond but I immediately knew, right there and then, that not only would I never again try to compete for my daughter's affections but also that I would do anything in the world to see that look of joy on my wife's face forever. 

Hell, I would die to see that look on her face forever.   

Anyway, like my man L.L. Cool J says, I know I'll be back on top sometime again.  Besides, as they say in the fashion biz, everything old eventually comes back in style again at one point or another. 

Right? 

Hello? 

Anyone? 

Ahhh...fuck it!  Have fun, BossLady and Peanut.  If you need me, I'll be on the couch.

 

The MetroDad Theory of Relativity

Two of our best friends recently had their second child.

And since the birth of their first child preceded the Peanut's by almost a year, they have always somewhat served as our parenting guinea pigs.  In many ways, they are like our Lewis & Clark, bravely traversing ahead of us on that great continental divide known as Parenthood and selflessly warning us of all the potential pitfalls that we may encounter along the way. 

Actually, that might be overstating their importance.  Sorry.  THIS HEAT IS MAKING ME INSANE AND RUINING ALL MY METAPHORS!

On second thought, they're more like the best friends you call on a Saturday night to ask why your newborn child is filling up her Huggies with what looks like the remains of a Shamrock Shake.

Anyway...like us, our friends were very anxious parents on the first go-around.  They read all the parenting books and took all the right classes.  No baby-related purchases were made unless they had been researched on Consumer Reports and cross-referenced with the databases of the FDA, the CDC and CPSC.  Heck, they even had professional safety experts come to their apartment and ensure that everything was 100% child-proof.  It was their first child!  Who could blame them?

But for kid #2?  Ehh...not so much. 

Seriously, we went over there last week and I swear that I saw their newborn baby sucking paper clips out of an electrical socket. 

Now, I'm not saying that my friends don't care about their second child.  It's just that I think we all eventually learn that much of the anxiety and stress we experienced with the birth of our first child may have been a tad bit out of proportion.  That's ok.  In reality, that's how it SHOULD be.  Having a child for the first time is a major life-altering event and should be undertaken with only the utmost seriousness. 

I hear stories all the time about parents obsessively sterilizing for hours and hours anything that came in contact with their first child!  By the time the third one comes along, these same parents are licking the germs off the pacifier with their tongues and wiping them off with their shirt.  Somehow, it's just not as big a deal anymore. 

I've also noticed this phenomenon when it comes to naming one's children.  Before the Peanut was born, I'm not kidding when I say that BossLady and I had a huge Excel file listing all of our preferred names by both gender and alphabetical order.  We would spend HOURS lying in bed and trying to come up with those "special" names. 

But as I look around at couples with multiple kids, I realize that even things like names become less and less important.  With the first child, it's always, "Oh, Sweetie!  You were named after my favorite relative, Grandma Eden, who lovingly raised me when I was a young child.  I'll always have a special place in my heart for her and, when I look at you, I see her beautiful soul shining brightly inside of you."   

By the 4th kid, it's like, "Your name?  You were named after a fucking sandwich.  Now, go get your brothers and sisters, Reuben!"

As for me?  Heck, I've only been a parent for 21 months but I can already see that my over-protectiveness of my daughter is starting to wane a little bit and that my lax attitude is slowly manifesting itself in subtle ways.  How?

Well, here's what I've noticed so far...

• I used to bathe the Peanut every single day.  Now, I only do it when there's maple syrup stuck in her hair or when she starts smelling worse than the dog.  I've been busted more than once wiping her down from head to toe with a wet paper towel. 

• I used to prepare every single one of her meals from scratch using only the freshest organic ingredients.  I still do this quite frequently but let's just say that now, my daughter squeals like a little chipmunk whenever we pass by a McDonalds. 

• I used to sit for hours on the floor with the Peanut reading her 20 children's books in a row.  Now, I make her sit on my lap as I read her passages from Phillip Roth's new novel or the Sports Section.   She's not learning quite as much but I was pretty proud when she turned to me the other day and said, "Yankees suck!"

I think because the Peanut is turning into this walking, talking human being with her own strong sense of individuality and personality, I feel less inclined to be so neurotic or overprotective.  After all, what good does it do to sterilize all her sippy cups when, two minutes later, she's outside shoveling mounds of dirt into her mouth like a geophagic member of a Zambian war tribe?  Seems like a waste of time, doesn't it? 

Heck, by next week, I'll probably just change her diapers when the poop starts leaking out the sides.  Of course, I'll have to wait until she's done playing in traffic and juggling the steak knives...but that's cool, right? 

A Hug's Life

I am positively head-over-heels in love with my daughter. 

At the age of 21 months, the Peanut has me completely wrapped around her little finger.  Whenever we're together, we spend most of our time being absolutely silly and laughing our heads off.  We're just two goofy kids having the time of our lives.  In fact, if you ever saw us together, you might actually overdose on all the cuteness.  Seriously, it's fucking nauseating. 

But despite our closeness, there's one thing that's always perturbed me about my relationship with the Peanut.  It's something that's been evident since she was born and, thus far, shows no signs of abating.  It's not a huge deal but, in a way, it sometimes makes me feel as if there's a large part of parenting that I'm completely missing out on.  I'm reluctant to make a big deal about it but the fact of the matter is...

The Peanut is NOT a hugger.

Don't get me wrong.  Whenever she sees other kids, she always runs to hug and kiss them.  Whenever she comes home at the end of the day, she immediately throws her little arms open to warmly embrace our dog.  And when it's time to go to bed, she always gives me and the BossLady a quick good night hug.  But it's more like one of those quick man-hugs that you give when you run into one of your boys at a club.  For the most part, she never really wants to hug us.  She's either too busy or she's just too independent. 

The ONLY times that she ever gives us one of those huge neck-grabbing bear hugs is when she's absolutey scared out of her Huggies.  Unfortunately, the kid is pretty much fearless and doesn't scare easily.  In fact, thus far, there are only two things that scare her enough for her to hug us...the ocean and the sound of the vacuum cleaner.  For some reason, those things scare the crap out of her.

In the grand scheme of things, I know that we have a great relationship with the Peanut.  I don't ever doubt her love for us and I know that her lack of hugging is due mostly to her fierce sense of independence.  But we're her parents.  We love her.  We adore her. We'd die for her.  Once in awhile, it would be nice if she would just run up to us and give us a big hug.  You know.  Just to let us know that she cares. 

Anyway, what I really want to know is whether you guys think it's bad that, every once in awhile, we not only turn the Dyson vacuum cleaner on full-blast for no apparent reason but also we try to take the Peanut to the beach as frequently as possible?

We're going to Hell, aren't we?  Shit, I knew it!

Happy Anniversary, BossLady!

Five years ago today, the lovely and beautiful BossLady and I exchanged vows to one another in a Tribeca loft.  It was one of those gorgeous summer evenings and the perfect time to celebrate our union together. 

After all these years together, I still can't believe she agreed to marry me and my smelly feet.  I don't even want to contemplate my life without her.  A life without her is no life at all. 

.

Happy Anniversary, honey.  Not only do you rock the Casbah, you make me make me make me make me hungry again!   

You're the coolest cat in town and I'll always love you forever.

I Want to Party Like It's 1999!

These days, most of you know me as a laid-back father who loves nothing more than patiently reading books to my daughter, mellowing out by watching my beloved NY Mets, or having long dinners at home with my lovely and beautiful wife. 

But, once upon a time, when I was a wee single laddie living it up in the bright lights of Manhattan, I used to run around this city like it was my own personal sandbox.  Being a young man in my 20's with an abundance of energy and absolutely nothing to worry about except paying the rent and making it to my desk in the morning, my social life made "Bright Lights, Big City" look like an afternoon TV special. 

I was a "work hard/play hard" kind of guy in the sense that it took a lot of work for me to play that hard. 

Recently, I was cleaning up my office when I came across my 1999 monthly planner.  Curious about taking a walk down memory lane, I flipped through my datebook to see what I had been up to exactly seven years ago.

Looking back, I hardly recognize myself or the things that I was doing at the time.  At the risk of sounding like a completely vapid asshole, here's what my planner says I was doing during June of 1999:

• Attended Vogue Magazine party for Anna Wintour at Mercer Hotel.

• Knicks vs. Pacers playoff games at Madison Square Garden.
  

• Volunteer work at adult illiteracy program.

• Dinner at Indochine with designer Michael Kors and friends.

• Anniversary party for a friend's nightclub.

• Opening party at art gallery for Peter Beard.

• Attended Yasmina Reza's off-Broadway play "Art." 

• Long weekend partying in Paris with friends from college.

• Private screening of "Fight Club" at HBO. 

• Canoe trip in the Delaware Water Gap.

• Garden party at MOMA, Hole concert at Roseland, Neil Young at the Garden. 

• Assorted dinners/dates at restaurants all over town.

Looking back, I don't have any regrets about this time of my life.  Despite the fact that my social calendar resembled a bad episode of "Sex in the City,"  from what I can remember, I had a pretty fun time back then.  In fact, I've always thought that EVERYONE should live in NYC when they're in their 20's.  It's a great place to be young and single. 

However, I'm also self-aware enough to realize that despite all the fun I was having, my life was emptier than Gary Busey's minibar at the Chateau Marmont. 

Back then, older friends of mine would always tell me about how much better life got for them when they reached their 30's and settled down.  Being a sarcastic wise-ass, I would always reply by saying, "I'm sorry.  Did you say something?  I couldn't hear you.  Claudia Schiffer is yelling in my ear about going to Bowery Bar and doing tequila shots off Kate Moss' neck.  Gotta go!"

But there comes a time in a man's life when it's natural to settle down and reevaluate one's priorities.  For me, that happened the very first day that I met the lovely BossLady.  Sure, it helped that I'd already completely mastered Tetris and that the Mets were 20 games behind Atlanta but I think those were more coincidences than causation.  Meeting the BossLady truly changed my definition of what "having fun" was really about.    

And as much as my life changed by marrying the BossLady, it changed even more with the birth of the Peanut.  Nothing quite turns an adult inside out like having children.  Without a doubt, parenting is the most important thing I have ever done or will do.  I've embraced this new stage of my life wholeheartedly and I've found that I'm having more fun than I've ever had in my entire life.  Living with the BossLady and the Peanut is a blast and I wouldn't trade this time for anything in the world.   

But you know when I really realized that my life had changed irrevocably? 

Last night, when I turned to the Peanut and said, "eat your vegetables or no dessert." 

Once you utter those words to your kid, there's no turning back.   

 

Time & The Theory of Relativity

If there's a single common refrain among the plethora of parenting aphorisms, it's that "time flies."  And while you can find many pearls of wisdom about the relativity of time, nothing ever quite prepares you for the acceleration of time that you experience after becoming a parent. 

Right now, the Peanut is 19 months old. 

And I have to tell you, my friends, that ever since I became a father 19 months ago, time has been flying faster for me than the half-life of Eva Longoria's acting career.

Honestly, the passing of time has been blowing my mind lately.  In my 37 years on this planet, I'm pretty sure that there are entire 19-month periods that have either completely vanished from my memory or can adequately be summed up by the phrase, "fun party, work sucked, broke up with her, took a vacation." 

For those of you with teenagers?  I can't even begin to imagine how you deal with it.  For you, I would think that the dilemma of lost time is even more shocking.  One day, you've got a little princess who likes dolls and thinks her daddy is the greatest thing in the entire world.  Next thing you know, she's uploading photos of her new "Born to Ride" tattoo on her MySpace account and is getting so many piercings that you think Marilyn Manson might even be concerned.  Holy crap!  Where's Dr. Emmet Brown and his magic DeLorean when you need him? 

In all honesty, I don't know what the future brings for the Peanut.  I'm just enjoying being caught up in the Here and Now!  And while I'm not going to wax the light nostalgic here, I will say that lately I've been amazed at the increased development of my newest roommate.

Last week with my parents, the Peanut threw her little "Hello Kitty" handbag over her shoulder, strapped her doll into the toy stroller, and started walking around the apartment in a pair of the BossLady's high heels.  Saturday, she grabbed my hand and demanded that I walk away from the saleswoman at Janovic Plaza so we could dance and sing "Ring Around the Rosies" together.  Then, as we were leaving the store, she turned to the saleswoman and blew her a kiss.  Yesterday, at brunch, she spent the entire time sitting calmly in her seat, stuffing dim sum into her mouth off her own plate, and when she was finished, quickly descended and tried to leave the restaurant without us.   

Now, either my girl's growing up quickly or she's turning into the second reincarnation of Mariah Carey.

Who is this independent and petulant diva that a mere few months ago couldn't eat a pea by herself and wouldn't walk outside on the street without holding my hand?  Wasn't it just the other day that I could palm her entire body like a basketball?  And how did I miss the memo that all household bathing policies now required the pre-approved written consent of all minors under the age of two?   

So yeah...time is definitely flying for me here.  And while I'm less concerned about what this means for my own sense of mortality, I'm also determined not to worry about what the future brings. 

Because right now?  I've still got a little princess who likes dolls and thinks her daddy is the greatest thing in the entire world. 

Besides, who's got time to worry when there are unicorns to ride?

Pulling the Goalie!

When it comes to power struggles in spousal relationships, I like to think that BossLady and I are two global superpowers choosing to maintain hegemony by dividing the world between us.  In the realm of financial issues and our social calendar, I am the all-powerful leader of the free world.  In the realm of everything else?  My opinion is about as important as Guam's. 

Now, surprisingly, this works out pretty well for us.  Like any great couple, we've learned to pick and choose our battles.  For the most part, I'd say we split most of our differences amicably and we each usually end up satisfied half of the time.  We're like the Atlanta Falcons.  Every year, we go 8-8. 

But obviously, there are certain family decisions that need to be made unanimously. 

One of these decisions is having a baby.

Now, raising is a child is an awesome responsibility that ideally requires the full determination of two willing and able adult participants.  Therefore, you'd like to think that most husbands have a choice when it comes to adding additional members to the family.  However, I've learned that the part of the marital contract detailing a husband's voice in this matter is about as relevant today as Hammurabi's Code and probably about as useful as an Iraqi constitution.   

You see, my friends, the BossLady has decided it's time for us to have another baby!

The Peanut is 19 months old right now and we've been discussing the idea of L'Enfant Part Deux for quite some time.  Since we decided long ago that we would only be having two kids, I assumed that we weren't in any hurry to have the second one so soon.  After all, Peanut is just starting to get to a really enjoyable age where we can communicate with one another.  It's only a matter of time now before she starts speaking in complete sentences and we can have actual conversations.  I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to that time.

Now, I wish I could say that BossLady's desire to have another child is not based solely on emotion. However, I know this woman like the back of my hand and part of what makes us a great couple is that I always know what she's thinking.  Here's what I think she's thinking...

• BossLady started a new job in January.  Although she enjoys the work, the hours suck ass.  She's surrounded by a bunch of ambitious, soulless and childless Type-A workaholics who don't mind logging 16-hour days.  It kills her that she often gets home after the Peanut has fallen asleep.  I can't really blame her but I know that she's thinking that if she gets pregnant, she'll not only get at least 3 months of maternity leave but there's also the slight possibility that she'll never have to return to work and can just be a SAHM.

• BossLady also has "The Baby Fever."  Quite a few of our friends are pregnant now and she wants nothing more than to hug and cradle a tiny newborn.  Since the Peanut doesn't like to cuddle anymore and squirms more than Dick Cheney at a congressional hearing, we need a replacement.  You know what I'm talking about, right?

As usual, I don't entirely disagree with the beautiful BossLady.  There's a part of me that would love to have another child right now.  Shit, if money were no object, I'd knock her up until we had enough kids to form our own Little League team!

But unless I win the MegaMillions, this probably isn't going to happen.  So, in my opinion, we don't need to hurry and we can at least wait until the Peanut is a little older before we start trying for another kid.  Or at least that's MY opinion. 

I have to admit that another reason I'm a little hesitant to jump back into the baby-making business is because other parents keep telling me that the second child is usually the complete opposite of the first.  Frankly, that scares the crap out of me.  The Peanut has always been an unbelievably easy kid.  She's healthy.  She's a good eater.  And she's always slept great.  She practically came out of the womb with a smile on her face and she's got an adorably friendly nature that warms the cockles of my heart. 

So, when I think of "the opposite," I conjure images of our next child entering the world with devil horns and a pitchfork or maybe looking like Linda Blair in The Exorcist. I have visions of raising a colicky insomniac who won't eat, won't smile and hates me with every fiber of her being. 

Now, I want to emphasize that, despite our slight differences in opinion, BossLady and I have not been arguing or fighting over the decision of when to have another child.  Let's just say that we're continuing the current discussion with increased frequency. 

But, every once in awhile, she'll make a Freudian slip and say something that reveals just how badly she wants to have another baby RIGHT NOW!  Last night, for example, she was trying to get me in the mood  and she accidentally said, "C'mon, baby.  I'm ovulating!"

Memo to all you women out there:  When you're not sure that you're ready to have another child, this is akin to telling your husband, "Hey honey.  Doesn't this nightie make me look like your mother?" 

It's funny.  BossLady had an extremely difficult childbirth.  I'm not kidding when I say that she was in labor for well over 36 hours.  In fact, her first words to me after the birth of the Peanut were, "She's cute.  Too bad she's going to be an only child!" 

I'm just kidding.  Actually, her first words were, "YOU did this to me, motherfucker!" 

In all seriousness, I didn't quite realize that my wife's biological need to reproduce again was stronger than Star Jones' chair on the set of "The View."  I actually thought the pain and anguish of childbirth were so strong that, in a year or two, I would be the one who would have to convince HER for a second child. 

Shows how much I know.

So what do you think, Internet?  Any opinions?  What are the pros and cons of having another child right now versus waiting a little longer?  For those of you with multiple kids, is there any age difference among them that works out well? 

Shit, I gotta run.  I think I hear my wife's uterus calling me from the other room!

.

Things Being An Uncle Has Taught Me (by MetroBro)

MetroDad was laid up in bed all of last week, semi-convinced that he had either contracted avian flu or got some rare disease from sitting on a dirty toilet seat in Hanoi.  Thankfully, it appears he just had some sort of flu that he must have picked up on the plane.  However, since he's still slowly recuperating, he asked me, MetroBro, to do a guest post.  Here's a quick one on what I've learned from being an uncle...


1. BABIES DON'T BOUNCE
...They bruise! And then certain "grown-ups" get all pissy and spiteful about it.

2. SHOW AND PROVE
When trying to show your sensitive side to girls, a photo of your niece is as good as a puppy on a leash. True, a puppy on a leash draws more attention on the street. But then again, you can't take puppies into bars and strip clubs. 

(I haven't tried the niece-on-a-leash thing yet.)

3. CARRY I.D. AT ALL TIMES
The eminent 16th-century French blogger ("frogger") Montaigne writes:

"Herodotus tells of a certain district of Libya where men lie with women indiscriminately, but where, once a child can toddle, it recognizes its own father out of the crowd, natural instincts guiding its first footsteps. There are frequent mistakes, I believe."

Oh, I believe too, frogger. Call me paranoid but I sometimes think the Peanut mistakes me for MetroDad. There are days when she sees me and I can tell she's thinking, "Hey, you're the guy who was here last weekend! We had a good time, didn't we? Gimme a hug, then we'll make the silly noises again." Other days her expression reads more like, "Wow, how did Da-da change his clothes and cut his hair so quickly?" 

(She thinks we "all look alike," maybe? Racist!)

4. CARRY PHOTO I.D. AT ALL TIMES, AND CLEARLY STATE THE DATE AND TIME OF YOUR LAST VISIT
Sometimes it's as if she doesn't recognize me at all. It's actually like a little kick in the heart when she hits me with the "Who did you say you were again?" look. Hot tears prick the corners of my eyes. I  go from pleading ("But I bought you your ExerSaucer, remember?") to threatening ("I bought you your fucking ExerSaucer!") to desperation ("I'll buy you a PlayStation this year, 'kay honey?").

Does this mean I'm not seeing her as often as I should? If it's been longer than a week, and I check in with MetroDad and ask what new words the Peanut has learned lately, he'll be sure to taunt me with something like: "The other day she said, 'Who's my uncle? I have an uncle?'"

5. TURD IS THE WORD
If you're not ready to have children of your own yet, but want to experience the thrill of feeling like a mature, responsible adult: Change a diaper.* It's such a rush. You get this buzz like you've suddenly gained five years in wisdom and bearing, but you can still sleep 'til 11 and smoke weed at noon.

*To get the full effect you have to change a brown gooshy diaper. A merely damp one doesn't count. You've got to feel like you're doing something major for the kid.

6. BEING AN UNCLE, V. 2.0
...Which leads us to the Big Question about being an uncle: "Doesn't this make you want to have kids of your own?" Well, no. Not yet. I'm good, for now. I get to come over, play with my adorable niece for a few hours, then go back to my self-centered, hedonistic, struggling-artist routine. Despite the fondest hopes of MetroGram and Gramps, being an uncle has NOT kicked my daddy-clock into overtime. But it has changed me. Listening to the Peanut form her first words, watching her take her first steps -- all this has made me wish for something I never knew I wanted before. I don't want to be a father. I want to be an uncle again!

Let's try for a boy this time!