Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Yet another lesson learned the hard way
Lesson learned: When Elizabeth is so hungry that she becomes an inconsolable little rage monster, we need to take more burp breaks while feeding her. Otherwise she will seem calm but then make a strange gremlin sound and projectile white goo at me like she needs to be exorcism by a priest. My god! The little shit smiled first! Don't tell me she didn't know what she was doing...she plotted! Having a much deserved beer while watching The Exorcist. Cheers...I guess.
Monday, May 30, 2016
Well call me a monkey's father...
Howdy all,
I can't help but to put my two cents in on the death of Harambe the gorilla at the Cincinnati Zoo. I actually didn't know that it even happened since we were up at the cabin for the weekend with no cell service or internet access. We did have a TV, but since it was raining all weekend and we were in a cabin with 2 small children, the TV hardly left Disney Channel. Anyways, for those of you that don't know, a small boy (one report I read said 3 and another said 4 year old) apparently made his way in to a gorilla habitat at a zoo while his mother was distracted. A large endangered male silverback gorilla ended up finding the boy and started dragging him around "aggressively" and the decision was made to shoot the gorilla in order to protect the boy. All day now, I have been seeing memes that basically say that the Harambe would still be alive if that mother had just kept an eye on her kid. I find myself rather torn...
As an animal lover, I am appalled that the gorilla was shot. As an asshole, I think they should have played a simple numbers game and decided that there are plenty of humans already, but the gorilla is endangered. But as a new parent...I get the decision. For several reasons. Nobody that has EVER spent time around small children can't tell me that those little shits can turn in to ninjas when they want to. Elizabeth isn't 2 months old yet, but somehow she manages to kick and hit her way to what ever the hell she wants! I consider myself a very involved and attentive parent, but last week my dumb ass didn't have the car seat clicked in all the way. Shit happens and I'm not sure that the mother can be TOTALLY to blame on this one. Again, as a new parent, I will tell you right now that if I was in her shoes and Elizabeth was getting tossed around a gorilla habitat and a zoo representative told me that they needed to protect the gorilla...I am confident that I would turn in to some sort of Rambo type character. Endangered or not, if an animal was tossing Elizabeth around I would gleefully snap its neck and shower in its blood and then make a rug out of it. Hate to get graphic, but it's true.
One primatologist even weighed in and said that it was probably the screaming of the crowd that got Harambe agitated and that's why he started to get so aggressive. So, is it any ONE person's fault? No. But the whole situation has me freaking terrified now. The one story I read about it said that the little boy made it through 2 different barriers. My mother cursed me when I was a little boy when I was being a real shithead and said "I hope you have a kid someday that is just as naughty as you!". Now I have visions of Elizabeth being a little shithead just like her father was and I KNOW that I could have made it through 2 barriers meant to keep me out of a gorilla habitat! Lesson learned: don't bring Elizabeth to a zoo...EVER. Or at least if I do, I should put her in the same contraption that they put Hannibal Lecter in for his court appearance.
I guess my degree in Primatology from Google U probably isn't enough to make any informed decision, but I do know that although it is a tragedy that Harambe had to be killed, it could have been an even bigger tragedy if that little boy had been killed by an animal that is 6 times stronger than an average man. Thanks for reading everyone. This "prost" is for Harambe...bottoms up man. Cheers.
I can't help but to put my two cents in on the death of Harambe the gorilla at the Cincinnati Zoo. I actually didn't know that it even happened since we were up at the cabin for the weekend with no cell service or internet access. We did have a TV, but since it was raining all weekend and we were in a cabin with 2 small children, the TV hardly left Disney Channel. Anyways, for those of you that don't know, a small boy (one report I read said 3 and another said 4 year old) apparently made his way in to a gorilla habitat at a zoo while his mother was distracted. A large endangered male silverback gorilla ended up finding the boy and started dragging him around "aggressively" and the decision was made to shoot the gorilla in order to protect the boy. All day now, I have been seeing memes that basically say that the Harambe would still be alive if that mother had just kept an eye on her kid. I find myself rather torn...
As an animal lover, I am appalled that the gorilla was shot. As an asshole, I think they should have played a simple numbers game and decided that there are plenty of humans already, but the gorilla is endangered. But as a new parent...I get the decision. For several reasons. Nobody that has EVER spent time around small children can't tell me that those little shits can turn in to ninjas when they want to. Elizabeth isn't 2 months old yet, but somehow she manages to kick and hit her way to what ever the hell she wants! I consider myself a very involved and attentive parent, but last week my dumb ass didn't have the car seat clicked in all the way. Shit happens and I'm not sure that the mother can be TOTALLY to blame on this one. Again, as a new parent, I will tell you right now that if I was in her shoes and Elizabeth was getting tossed around a gorilla habitat and a zoo representative told me that they needed to protect the gorilla...I am confident that I would turn in to some sort of Rambo type character. Endangered or not, if an animal was tossing Elizabeth around I would gleefully snap its neck and shower in its blood and then make a rug out of it. Hate to get graphic, but it's true.
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| Ready for the zoo sweetie? |
One primatologist even weighed in and said that it was probably the screaming of the crowd that got Harambe agitated and that's why he started to get so aggressive. So, is it any ONE person's fault? No. But the whole situation has me freaking terrified now. The one story I read about it said that the little boy made it through 2 different barriers. My mother cursed me when I was a little boy when I was being a real shithead and said "I hope you have a kid someday that is just as naughty as you!". Now I have visions of Elizabeth being a little shithead just like her father was and I KNOW that I could have made it through 2 barriers meant to keep me out of a gorilla habitat! Lesson learned: don't bring Elizabeth to a zoo...EVER. Or at least if I do, I should put her in the same contraption that they put Hannibal Lecter in for his court appearance.
I guess my degree in Primatology from Google U probably isn't enough to make any informed decision, but I do know that although it is a tragedy that Harambe had to be killed, it could have been an even bigger tragedy if that little boy had been killed by an animal that is 6 times stronger than an average man. Thanks for reading everyone. This "prost" is for Harambe...bottoms up man. Cheers.
Family is more than blood...
Howdy y’all,
I have been sitting on this post for a full week now. I won’t
lie, this is going to be one of my more serious posts (by “serious” I mean that
I try to refrain from making any dick jokes...), so I apologize in advance if I
bring anyone down with this one. On May 21st it would have been my
late grandmother’s 98th birthday. Because my Ma worked so much while
I was growing up, I spent a large amount of my time at my grandparents. As a
result, I became very close to both of my grandparents, but especially my
Grandma. She taught me so much, but probably the greatest lesson she ever
taught me was that “family is more than blood”.
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| Yes...that is the little Fat-dad himself. |
I have always been blessed with
great friends. And now my daughter will be blessed with great family based of
my Grandma’s definition of the word. Elizabeth will have so many aunts and
uncles that she won’t even know what to do with herself. I feel quite comforted
in the fact that if anything happens to my wife or I, that my daughter will be surrounded
by people that would do anything for her. When I had announced that we were pregnant,
many of my guy friends kind of assumed that the party was over. Now they are
all so jazzed that they are Uncles that I can’t keep them away from my
house! I seriously almost makes me cry
just thinking about it.
When I was a kid I had an Uncle
Dave. I am a little proud and a little ashamed to admit that I was almost a
teenager before I realized that Uncle Dave had absolutely no blood relation to
me. I was probably 12 years old before I put 2 and 2 together and realized that
Uncle Dave was, in reality, one of Dad’s old drinking buddies. After my Dad
left, Dave stuck around. He would stop over all the time and check in on me, he
tried getting me in to model trains, he would check up on Ma, to the point that
I had literally no idea that he wasn’t blood family. Between the words of
advice from Grandma and the actions of Uncle Dave, I quickly learned that there
truly is more to family that genetics.
I never had a Norman Rockwell
version of a family growing up, but I have come very close with my wife’s
family. A mom, a dad, 3 kids, and now 3 children-in-law and 3 grand-kids. I was so excited to be a legit uncle when my
first niece was born. My goodness! I truly can’t even put it in to words. In my
life I have been quite blessed to be considered Uncle Brian to many of my
friends’ kids. I have also had the honor of being a Godfather to my cousin’s
son, and one of my best friends’ daughter. My wife and I are legal guardians to
3 kids in the event anything happens to the parents (Every time they go on
vacation my wife and I pray and sacrifice a virgin so that nothing happens to
the parents. We love those kids, but I couldn’t imagine multiplying my simple
little family overnight!) But there was just something about becoming a “legit
uncle”, which was a thought that I slapped myself for, because even though I am
not blood to most of the kids that I am an uncle to they are still loved like
they are blood.
One change that I have actually
been trying to make since becoming a father is that I am trying to let go of my
anger. For years and years I was angry at my father for leaving. I don’t want
to get into the whole back story, but I was simply put…angry. I wasn’t able to
wrap my mind around it growing up. I was even going to get a tattoo when
Elizabeth was born that said “It doesn’t matter who your father was, all that
matters is the father you are going to be” in Mando’a. But while going through
the pregnancy, I actually started speaking to my father again. Long story short
there, even though things are still in a weird place, I am learning to give up
my anger about the situation for the sake of my daughter. Things are still
moving slowly and I have a lot of work to do on my end. I spent the better part
of 3 decades destroying bridges and I now I am slowly trying to rebuild them. But
the amazing part is that even though I have spent so much time destroying these
bridges, people are inherently good and are willing to give me that second
chance. I just don’t want to have my daughter pay for any of my sins I guess. I
have since changed my mind and will be getting a tattoo that says “Buir” which
is simply “Parent” in Mando’a.
Although I was terrified of how
becoming a father would change me, I will say that making me let go of my anger
has been an awesome change that was also long overdue. Since the death of my
grandmother and then the death of my Ma, I had been moving further and further
away from my side of the family. I had my reasons for it at the time and I will
even go so far as to say that due to where I was emotionally at the time, it
was for the best, but I am very glad that my daughter has made me open my eyes.
Family, whether it is blood or not, is important. So here is my cheers for all
of you (you know who you are) that are my family! Prost!
Tom Brocaw can bite me, but you kids should still get off my lawn.
Howdy,
Recently
I was listening to a comedian on Pandora and he went on a rather humorous rant
about how kids these days have it so easy. I have my own pretty solid rant
about the current state of children’s playgrounds, but that is for another day.
Anyways… it really got me thinking about the past, present and future of our
youth. Do they actually have it that easy? Did we have it that bad? Are the
baby boomers really all that great? Who really is the greatest generation? See
if you can follow me on this whole thought process.
“Back
in my day...” is the start of a rant that I have heard some variation of a billion
and a half times. It has really got me thinking about my childhood and I have
come to a very startling realization, of course things were better when *insert
who is speaking* was a kid! Everything is better when you are a kid! You don’t
have a job, people buy you shit, do your laundry, clean up after you, you
literally have next to ZERO responsibility! How awesome would all of that be
right now?! I grew up in the 90’s, it wasn’t an especially great or terrible
time to grow up, but my recollection of it was that it was the shit *in case
there is a generational gap “the shit” is a positive term*. But that is the
problem with every generation; you remember it through the eyes of a child. A
child always remembers the awesome stuff, almost never the shitty things that “define
a generation”.
I will
get to tell Elizabeth about a time pre-9/11 when you could pick up a friend
from the airport at their gate! Back in my day, we didn’t have your fancy GPS!
Back in my day, we didn’t have your IPODs! Back in my day, you were lucky if
your car got 20 miles to the gallon! So forth and so on. My Ma used to tell me
her stories about growing up too. Back in my day we didn’t have computers! Back
in my day gas used to be less than a dollar! Back in my day everyone was stoned!
This pattern continues with my grandparents. My grandparents used to tell me
stories about growing up in the depression, riding a horse to their one room
schoolhouse, what it was like to live before planes. On and on and on and on.
So this got me thinking…does any of this shit make one generation better or
worse than any other?
I mean,
think of it. I grew up in the MTV generation, and the baby boomers give us
constant shit because of all of the advantages that we have. But isn’t that
simply how time, innovation and society works? To my great-grandparents, my
mother’s generation had it soooooo easy. “What do you mean you don’t have polio
AND cholera?!”. Every generation works their ass off to make sure that their children
have a better life than they did growing up, and then they spend the remainder
of their years bitching about how better the new generation’s life is! That
doesn’t even begin to make any real kind of sense. If you go back far enough,
then one of your ancestors will bitch about even “The Greatest Generation”.
They would say “What do you mean you don’t just die of the flu?!”, “What do you
mean that most women that give birth live?!”, “What do you mean that you don’t
have to track your meal across the frozen tundra for 12 days?!”. Your 150th
great-grandparents would think that you and all preceding generations were a
bunch of raging pussies!
With
that being said, I am quite thankful that I managed to do the majority of my
stupid shit before the advent of social media. I have little to no shame, so I
have no qualms with posting about my stupidity on social media. Nor do I seem
to have a problem posting about the stupid shit my daughter pulls, but I do
feel a little bad that all of this will follow her forever (not bad enough to
stop doing it by the way). My generation is the in-between generation. We still
ran around until the streetlights came on, but we had Nintendo (and
streetlights for that matter). We had the internet, but it was pretty much only
used only for Porn and science stuff (that might be the most accurate description
of the early internet you will ever read btw) until I was quite a bit older. We
had cars, but they didn’t have nearly as much safety paraphernalia. We had
social media, but we were able to do something without posting about every
single meal we ate. We had color TV, but we were still kicked out of the house
to play once cartoons were done. I think you get the point.
Do I
think my generation is the greatest generation? Hell no. Do I think any other
previous generation was the greatest? Maybe, I guess. But do I think that my
daughter’s generation has the potential to be the real greatest generation? You
bet your sweet ass I do! I sincerely hope that her generation can fix all of
the shit that we’ve broken over the years. I want them to not be able to
imagine a time when people blew each other up over stupid shit. I want them to
not be able to imagine a time when people died of common diseases. I want them
to be able to not imagine a time when anything they could imagine could become
a reality. But will I bitch about how easy they have it when that time comes? Again
the answer is you bet your sweet ass. These freakin’ kids better get the hell
off of my lawn and start listening to better music!
As
usual…a sincere prost/cheers to all of you that have taken the time to read
this. Just for the record, if you are reading this then you are also a pussy
generation since you are accessing the internet and you have enough disposable
income to own a computer…yeah…I said it. Pussy! Here’s to hoping that Elizabeth
can fix all of the world’s woes…might be a lot to put on a 6 week old, but I
think she can do it. Cheers!
Memorial Day and the Ghost of Fatterhood Future
Howdy y’all,
I will
keep this one short and sweet. I have always considered myself a pacifist (i.e.
coward), but I have never lost an appreciation for those that have fought and
died for me to be a raging wussy. This Memorial day weekend I was able to spend
the entire time with my in-laws. 8 adults and 3 children in a 1 bedroom cabin…yeah.
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| My brother-in-law left his #1 Dad Hat at the cabin. "There can be only only one", so I must take on the mantle! |
But I did get a glimpse at the
Ghost of Fatterhood Future while spending the weekend with a 2 and a 4 year
old. I heard several things over the weekend with my nieces that I never
thought adults would ever have to say. For instance…
“Stop licking the window!”
“Why is she wearing her socks on her hands?”
“She used the potty, give her a marshmallow.”
“Don’t eat the minnow!”
“Stop hitting her head!”
“Stop hitting your head!”
Man, maybe the infant stage is the easiest stage… dear lord.
I will be updating a little later with some photos from the weekend as well. Cheers!
Friday, May 27, 2016
I was a teenage feminist...
I was blessed while growing up to be raised by an amazingly strong and independent woman. My mother also had a tendency to surround herself with amazingly strong independent women as well. Not to get too Freudian on everyone, but a friend of mine made a compelling argument for the women in my life being the basis for my love of science fiction. No other genre has soooo many strong female characters. Sci-fi gave us Princess Leia, Rey, Dr. River Song, Amy Pond, Rose Tyler, Mara Jade, Ripley, Newt, I really could go on and on all day. I am quite thankful for all of this though. I never grew up with the Norman Rockwell version of gender stereotypes and I don't intend to let my daughter either. As a matter of fact I will be starting on her first set of Mando Armor in the next few weeks! My Liz'ika (Star Wars language for Little Liz) will be kicking ass along side her Daddy and nerding out.
Even though I am confident that I will raise a strong little lady, I can't help but still be protective. If you have a boy then you only have to worry about 1 penis. If you have a little girl then I have to worry about all of the penises! A friend of ours was recently assaulted while walking to her car, the thought of that ever happening to Elizabeth sets my freaking teeth on edge. Hell, a pregnant friend of ours was holding Elizabeth and her unborn son started kicking Elizabeth. Now I am not saying that I would ever punch a pregnant lady, but my protective instincts kicked in just from that harmless interaction! Got help her first boyfriend.
An unintended consiquence of have a daughter is that boobs are now ruined for me. I won't lie, before if I saw a good looking lady I would look. I'm married, not dead. Now, I see a good looking woman and all I can think of is that she is someone's mother or daughter and those boobs on her chest were not put there for decoration. They serve a purpose. I got highly bummed out while driving home from work earlier this week. On my way home there is a titty bar. I refuse to call them gentleman's clubs because guys don't dress up in suits and top-hats and discuss politics while sipping scotch in these places. Normally I prefer the phrase "strip club", but I think after my description of this place you will see that the best name for it is a titty bar. Anyways, this place is in the middle of nowhere. The building is actually 2 double wide trailers pushed together and out front is a sign that has the name of the "club" and also read "2 for 1 lap dances! Look for the coupon in the Penny Saver!". Now do you see why this place is a titty bar? Back to my point, all I could think of is what happens if Elizabeth ever winds up dancing like the girls and this place? I doubt she would, but still. After pondering all of this for a while I ended up just getting really angry when I realized my freaking daughter had ruined strip clubs and strange boobs for me! She isn't even 2 months old and already my Fatterhood experiment is a failure!
Don't want anyone getting the wrong idea by the way, I never have frequented strip clubs (or ogled pretty ladies for that matter) a lot. I have always found them to be kind of gross and depressing places. But every now and again (and of course with my wife's permission) it was kind of fun to go to one for special occasions. But somehow, this damn kid managed to ruin boobs...I'm not even mad, I'm impressed. But I swear if she doesn't stop making eye contacting with me while nursing with my wife...I might end up losing my shit.
I will be posting another post when we get back from the cabin on Monday. In the meantime, I hope everyone has a great weekend and everyone is safe. I will be soaking up the sun while drinking beer and smoking cigars...in true Fatterhood style! But not looking at boobs...Cheers!
Even though I am confident that I will raise a strong little lady, I can't help but still be protective. If you have a boy then you only have to worry about 1 penis. If you have a little girl then I have to worry about all of the penises! A friend of ours was recently assaulted while walking to her car, the thought of that ever happening to Elizabeth sets my freaking teeth on edge. Hell, a pregnant friend of ours was holding Elizabeth and her unborn son started kicking Elizabeth. Now I am not saying that I would ever punch a pregnant lady, but my protective instincts kicked in just from that harmless interaction! Got help her first boyfriend.
An unintended consiquence of have a daughter is that boobs are now ruined for me. I won't lie, before if I saw a good looking lady I would look. I'm married, not dead. Now, I see a good looking woman and all I can think of is that she is someone's mother or daughter and those boobs on her chest were not put there for decoration. They serve a purpose. I got highly bummed out while driving home from work earlier this week. On my way home there is a titty bar. I refuse to call them gentleman's clubs because guys don't dress up in suits and top-hats and discuss politics while sipping scotch in these places. Normally I prefer the phrase "strip club", but I think after my description of this place you will see that the best name for it is a titty bar. Anyways, this place is in the middle of nowhere. The building is actually 2 double wide trailers pushed together and out front is a sign that has the name of the "club" and also read "2 for 1 lap dances! Look for the coupon in the Penny Saver!". Now do you see why this place is a titty bar? Back to my point, all I could think of is what happens if Elizabeth ever winds up dancing like the girls and this place? I doubt she would, but still. After pondering all of this for a while I ended up just getting really angry when I realized my freaking daughter had ruined strip clubs and strange boobs for me! She isn't even 2 months old and already my Fatterhood experiment is a failure!
Don't want anyone getting the wrong idea by the way, I never have frequented strip clubs (or ogled pretty ladies for that matter) a lot. I have always found them to be kind of gross and depressing places. But every now and again (and of course with my wife's permission) it was kind of fun to go to one for special occasions. But somehow, this damn kid managed to ruin boobs...I'm not even mad, I'm impressed. But I swear if she doesn't stop making eye contacting with me while nursing with my wife...I might end up losing my shit.
I will be posting another post when we get back from the cabin on Monday. In the meantime, I hope everyone has a great weekend and everyone is safe. I will be soaking up the sun while drinking beer and smoking cigars...in true Fatterhood style! But not looking at boobs...Cheers!
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
Harry Caray and the Machine Gun Shits
Sorry for the absence folks. Long week and it isn't looking any shorter yet. Anyways, I figured I would do a quick little post about some of Elizabeth's newest adventures this week.
Earlier this week I awoke to the sound of my daughter's machine gun farts. I thought she was still sleeping so I slinked over to her crib just to watch her for a while before I had to get ready for work. Little did I know that she was wide awake. As soon as she saw me she made the creepy direct eye contact and I knew it was more than farts. I really need to get a picture of the look on her face. It is pure determined concentration. I am confident that if I concentrated on anything in my life as much as my daughter concentrates on pushing a turd out, that I probably would become ruler of the world. Anyways, after listening/watching for about a full 3 minutes, I did what any good father would do, which is I woke my wife up and said "I think she needs to be changed and I am running late for work." No I wasnt. I did get to see the aftermath of those machine gun farts and my god! It looked like New Orleans after Katrina. Just chaos. I couldn't help but think "how the hell does someone that small make that much poop?!". Then today I had McDonald's for breakfast and for supper...guess I got my answer...
We have also started "tummy time". The Ewok seems to be really hit or miss with it. Sometimes she loves it and other times we might as well be dribbling her like a basketball. But I can't stop laughing when she does manage to pick her big old noggin up. She sways back and forth with it and many times slams it back down on the mat. All I can think of is Harry Caray. With her hair all messed up and her head swaying I would give anything to hear her say "If you were a boob, would you nurse yourself? I know I would. Cubs win!". I would take vido of it, but I know I wouldn't be able to stop laughing long enough to keep the camera still.
I have 2 other posts that are in the draft stage that I will publish later this week yet. I have decided that even though I don't get enough views on this page for me to quit and go pro, I am having a blast doing it and embarrassing my daughter on the world wide web. I am pretty sure she will thank me for it someday. As always...Cheers!
Earlier this week I awoke to the sound of my daughter's machine gun farts. I thought she was still sleeping so I slinked over to her crib just to watch her for a while before I had to get ready for work. Little did I know that she was wide awake. As soon as she saw me she made the creepy direct eye contact and I knew it was more than farts. I really need to get a picture of the look on her face. It is pure determined concentration. I am confident that if I concentrated on anything in my life as much as my daughter concentrates on pushing a turd out, that I probably would become ruler of the world. Anyways, after listening/watching for about a full 3 minutes, I did what any good father would do, which is I woke my wife up and said "I think she needs to be changed and I am running late for work." No I wasnt. I did get to see the aftermath of those machine gun farts and my god! It looked like New Orleans after Katrina. Just chaos. I couldn't help but think "how the hell does someone that small make that much poop?!". Then today I had McDonald's for breakfast and for supper...guess I got my answer...
We have also started "tummy time". The Ewok seems to be really hit or miss with it. Sometimes she loves it and other times we might as well be dribbling her like a basketball. But I can't stop laughing when she does manage to pick her big old noggin up. She sways back and forth with it and many times slams it back down on the mat. All I can think of is Harry Caray. With her hair all messed up and her head swaying I would give anything to hear her say "If you were a boob, would you nurse yourself? I know I would. Cubs win!". I would take vido of it, but I know I wouldn't be able to stop laughing long enough to keep the camera still.
I have 2 other posts that are in the draft stage that I will publish later this week yet. I have decided that even though I don't get enough views on this page for me to quit and go pro, I am having a blast doing it and embarrassing my daughter on the world wide web. I am pretty sure she will thank me for it someday. As always...Cheers!
Saturday, May 21, 2016
The future freaks me out...
Howdy again gang,
I felt the need to do a make-up post since I had missed Friday. This make up post is about my fears regarding Fatterhood....I mean...fatherhood. Today, my aunt sent Elizabeth a gift. It was a very cute little pink piggy bank. In the box she sent the following poem:
A careful man I ought to be,
A little lady follows me.
I do not dare to go astray,
For fear she'll go the selfsame way.
Not once can I escape her eyes;
Whate'er she sees me do she tries.
Like me she says she's going to be,
that little lady who follows me.
I must remember as I go
Through summer sun and winter snow,
I'm molding for the years to be,
that little lady who follows me.
WHAT THE HELL?! Don't get me wrong, it is a lovely poem and it is even true I guess, but way to freak a guy out! The whole point of this blog is that I don't intend on really changing my life all that much and I get a reminder in the mail that if I don't change that I might raise an alcoholic/serial killer. Dear lord. This of course has got me thinking a lot. To be fair, my mission was rather doomed from the beginning. To think that your life won't change with the introduction of a child is just absurd. But that amount of change is correlated to the type of life you lead pre-baby. My wife and I are total home bodies. I travel for work and my wife work about 900 hours a week, so by the time Friday night rolls around going out and painting the town red seems like as much fun as eating our supper out of Elizabeth's dirty diaper. But a once or twice a month, we used to drag ourselves out and get 3 sheets to the wind and stay up late and live like normal 20-something-year olds. So not a whole lot really is changing on our end to be honest. But that dang poem really drove the point home, there is now a little gremlin that watches EVERYTHING that we do and is constantly learning. Terrifying...
So what do I have to bring to the table as far as raising my daughter is concerned? Not much from what I can see. Recently I received a message from a friend of my late mother saying that she "really enjoyed the blog" but that she thinks that I should change the name from Fatterhood because I "shouldn't have such a low opinion" of myself. I will explain it to you all the same way I explained it to her. I decided upon the name Fatterhood because I need to bring myself down. I am the luckiest son of a bitch that you will ever meet! I am 5 foot 8, 236lbs, average looks (I guess), been told that I am above average intelligence and that I am "charming" and "witty", but I have done very little right in my life, but somehow I have managed to fail upwards and Roger Rabbit myself into a great relationship/marriage, a nice house out in the country, a job that is very rewarding and has decent pay, amazing friends that are much more like family than friends, and now a beautiful and healthy baby girl. Have I worked hard for these things? Sure. I guess. But I have waaaaay better things and people in my life than I feel I truly deserve. I could never give advice to another person on how to obtain any of these things. "I drag myself through the dirt just to feel a little closer to the ground because I always got my head up in the clouds".
So back to my point. What do I have to pass on to my daughter? I guess she can just plan on doing the opposite of everything I tell her. Or better yet, just ALWAYS listen to her mother, but that has its drawbacks as well. My wife and I have always agreed that she is very book smart and I have always been better about keeping my fingers on the pulse of the real world. For instance, my wife didn't quite realize why she couldn't do an internet search for "Cheap wood, free delivery" while looking for wood for our wood burning furnace...yeah. She is by no means stupid, but didn't stop and think of what type of pages might come up if you type that in to a search engine. I, on the other hand, have been out-mathed by a 3rd grader. I think/hope between the two of us that we can raise a smart, well adjusted, and street wise human being. But are two parents the only answer?
I was raised by a single mom. She worked very hard to give me all of the advantages that she never had. For most of my younger years, she worked 2 or 3 jobs just so that I could go to a private school. She sold plasma so that I could have Christmas presents. Even though money was tight, she paid to put my in Cub/Boy Scouts so that I could have male role models. She also had a very strange quirk, every year for Christmas she insisted on getting me a board game. That's all fine and good, but I was an only child, with a single parent who worked a lot. Think that one through for a bit. In case you are wondering, Battleship really sucks when you play it by yourself. I still have a hatred of board games to this day, but I have sidetracked myself. Anyways, my Ma taught be one of the greatest parenting lessons that I have ever learned, which simply put, is sacrifice. The example that I use is when I was very little, my extremely independent mother couldn't afford any Christmas presents. I had food, housing, clothing, love, etc. but try explaining that to a small child. Anyways, even though it killed her, she bit the bullet and asked for help from Toys for Tots just so that I could have a gift to unwrap at Christmas. That might not seem like a lot to someone that never met my mother, but asking for a "hand-out" is something that my Ma would never do...unless it came to me. She taught me, that being a parent is about setting aside one's pride or comfort and making sure that your child is safe, happy, fed, clothed, etc.
So, I guess with that type of advice in hand and with my wife's intelligence and guidance, I am pretty sure we won't raise a serial killer. I did receive some pretty good advice from my father-in-law. Him and I have almost absolutely nothing in common except for our love of Pabst Blue Ribbon, cigars, the Milwaukee Brewers, and Meatloaf (the food and the musical artist), but we have always had respect for each other's differences. But while he was visiting us at the hospital and meeting Elizabeth for the first time, he shook my hand and said "Now your only job is to keep her off the pole.". He apparently didn't like my response of "As long as she is only doing it to pay for college". He put 3 kids through college and didn't seem to find it as funny as I did.
In short, I am slowly getting less worried about the big things. I am confident that she will be a smart, beautiful, semi-well adjusted, woman when she grows up. It is now all of the little stuff that I am worried about. Most of which simply has to do with having something in common with my daughter. What if she doesn't like Star Wars? What if she hates punk and metal music? What if she thinks the Brewers or Minnesota Wild are stupid? I know this is really mean to say, but right now she is kind of boring. She pretty much just eats, poops/pees, and sleeps. I still love her very much and I already feel a very strong connection with her, but having those things in common will make it much easier to keep and strengthen that bond. I am starting the corruption with Star Wars already. I call her Ewok, she has several Star Wars books, toys and decorations, we even watched The Force Awakens while still in the hospital! Call me crazy, but all of the stupid pop culture things matter in any relationship. Books, music, tv, all has ended up playing a huge part in any relationship I have ever had. I guess we will just have to wait and see. By then, the future will be the present and perhaps I won't be freaked out any more, but in the mean time.... AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
Don't be afraid to share this blog with your friends or family and keep the comments coming. If you have any questions or ideas for a blog theme, hit me up. As always, Cheers!
I felt the need to do a make-up post since I had missed Friday. This make up post is about my fears regarding Fatterhood....I mean...fatherhood. Today, my aunt sent Elizabeth a gift. It was a very cute little pink piggy bank. In the box she sent the following poem:
A careful man I ought to be,
A little lady follows me.
I do not dare to go astray,
For fear she'll go the selfsame way.
Not once can I escape her eyes;
Whate'er she sees me do she tries.
Like me she says she's going to be,
that little lady who follows me.
I must remember as I go
Through summer sun and winter snow,
I'm molding for the years to be,
that little lady who follows me.
WHAT THE HELL?! Don't get me wrong, it is a lovely poem and it is even true I guess, but way to freak a guy out! The whole point of this blog is that I don't intend on really changing my life all that much and I get a reminder in the mail that if I don't change that I might raise an alcoholic/serial killer. Dear lord. This of course has got me thinking a lot. To be fair, my mission was rather doomed from the beginning. To think that your life won't change with the introduction of a child is just absurd. But that amount of change is correlated to the type of life you lead pre-baby. My wife and I are total home bodies. I travel for work and my wife work about 900 hours a week, so by the time Friday night rolls around going out and painting the town red seems like as much fun as eating our supper out of Elizabeth's dirty diaper. But a once or twice a month, we used to drag ourselves out and get 3 sheets to the wind and stay up late and live like normal 20-something-year olds. So not a whole lot really is changing on our end to be honest. But that dang poem really drove the point home, there is now a little gremlin that watches EVERYTHING that we do and is constantly learning. Terrifying...
So what do I have to bring to the table as far as raising my daughter is concerned? Not much from what I can see. Recently I received a message from a friend of my late mother saying that she "really enjoyed the blog" but that she thinks that I should change the name from Fatterhood because I "shouldn't have such a low opinion" of myself. I will explain it to you all the same way I explained it to her. I decided upon the name Fatterhood because I need to bring myself down. I am the luckiest son of a bitch that you will ever meet! I am 5 foot 8, 236lbs, average looks (I guess), been told that I am above average intelligence and that I am "charming" and "witty", but I have done very little right in my life, but somehow I have managed to fail upwards and Roger Rabbit myself into a great relationship/marriage, a nice house out in the country, a job that is very rewarding and has decent pay, amazing friends that are much more like family than friends, and now a beautiful and healthy baby girl. Have I worked hard for these things? Sure. I guess. But I have waaaaay better things and people in my life than I feel I truly deserve. I could never give advice to another person on how to obtain any of these things. "I drag myself through the dirt just to feel a little closer to the ground because I always got my head up in the clouds".
So back to my point. What do I have to pass on to my daughter? I guess she can just plan on doing the opposite of everything I tell her. Or better yet, just ALWAYS listen to her mother, but that has its drawbacks as well. My wife and I have always agreed that she is very book smart and I have always been better about keeping my fingers on the pulse of the real world. For instance, my wife didn't quite realize why she couldn't do an internet search for "Cheap wood, free delivery" while looking for wood for our wood burning furnace...yeah. She is by no means stupid, but didn't stop and think of what type of pages might come up if you type that in to a search engine. I, on the other hand, have been out-mathed by a 3rd grader. I think/hope between the two of us that we can raise a smart, well adjusted, and street wise human being. But are two parents the only answer?
I was raised by a single mom. She worked very hard to give me all of the advantages that she never had. For most of my younger years, she worked 2 or 3 jobs just so that I could go to a private school. She sold plasma so that I could have Christmas presents. Even though money was tight, she paid to put my in Cub/Boy Scouts so that I could have male role models. She also had a very strange quirk, every year for Christmas she insisted on getting me a board game. That's all fine and good, but I was an only child, with a single parent who worked a lot. Think that one through for a bit. In case you are wondering, Battleship really sucks when you play it by yourself. I still have a hatred of board games to this day, but I have sidetracked myself. Anyways, my Ma taught be one of the greatest parenting lessons that I have ever learned, which simply put, is sacrifice. The example that I use is when I was very little, my extremely independent mother couldn't afford any Christmas presents. I had food, housing, clothing, love, etc. but try explaining that to a small child. Anyways, even though it killed her, she bit the bullet and asked for help from Toys for Tots just so that I could have a gift to unwrap at Christmas. That might not seem like a lot to someone that never met my mother, but asking for a "hand-out" is something that my Ma would never do...unless it came to me. She taught me, that being a parent is about setting aside one's pride or comfort and making sure that your child is safe, happy, fed, clothed, etc.
So, I guess with that type of advice in hand and with my wife's intelligence and guidance, I am pretty sure we won't raise a serial killer. I did receive some pretty good advice from my father-in-law. Him and I have almost absolutely nothing in common except for our love of Pabst Blue Ribbon, cigars, the Milwaukee Brewers, and Meatloaf (the food and the musical artist), but we have always had respect for each other's differences. But while he was visiting us at the hospital and meeting Elizabeth for the first time, he shook my hand and said "Now your only job is to keep her off the pole.". He apparently didn't like my response of "As long as she is only doing it to pay for college". He put 3 kids through college and didn't seem to find it as funny as I did.
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| You have to teach the kids about the Battle of Hoth early... |
Don't be afraid to share this blog with your friends or family and keep the comments coming. If you have any questions or ideas for a blog theme, hit me up. As always, Cheers!
Draw me like one of your french girls Jack...
Howdy gang,
Sorry for the delay the post. I had one heck of a long day yesterday and I managed to take a 14 hour nap. And napping is my segue into today's topic. My daughter Elizabeth sleeps a lot, which is totally normal for infants. Our daddy/daughter naps are easily my favorite part of having an infant and are the highlight of my day. We have also been quite fortunate because somewhere around the 3 week mark we started to get a 4-6 hour straight stretch of sleep from her. Well...I saw fortunate, but if you re-read that last sentence you will find that I said that we get a 4-6 hour stretch, but I never said when that stretch will occur. That is because we have no clue ourselves. Every time she falls asleep it is a dice roll if this will be a 5 min cat nap, a regular 1.5-2 hour nap, or if she is out for the count. That makes it pretty much the opposite of helpful. As I mentioned in a previous post, Elizabeth may be some sort of evil genius (I have a solid theory that she is a Sith Lord actually) and she seems to be able to sense what kind of sleep will be the most inconvenient for Mommy and Daddy.
I also know that I don't have any real grounds to be complaining. My wife, who I still think should be canonized by the Pope for sainthood, is breastfeeding. So she is up pretty much every 2-4 hours with an infant demanding that she whip out her boob and quench my her thirst! (sidenote: I have tried a similar technique where I cry and demand a beer brought to me while my wife is shirtless, so far I would not suggest anyone else try this) Since I have yet to learn how to produce milk, I get to either sit there like a goon while my daughter makes that creepy direct eye contact with me, or continue to sleep. I have done my best to stay helpful, but there is only so much a guy can do. Most days I do the dishes, vacuum, do laundry, etc. My wife says that it has been a huge help, but I really can't wait to help out a little bit more once we start to introduce a bottle in a few weeks.
I have done my best not to be too anthropomorphic when it comes to any of Elizabeth's actions. Somethings she does are the beginnings of her personality starting to form, but many are involuntary. But it is while she is sleeping that my imagination runs wild. When she is nodding off, I am convinced that she is trying to stay awake because she is soooooo fascinated with her surroundings. I am also convinced that she loves The Office and listening to Baby Metal. Sometimes when she sleeps she will smile out of nowhere. Infants can dream, but one has to wonder what they dream about. I mean, until a few weeks ago they could barely see and they don't know what anything is anyways. I like to think that they dream of things that they like. So my assumption is that Elizabeth dreams about a river of boobs where the milk never stops flowing and she never has to burp. Daddy is there making goofy faces and Mommy is telling him to stop. Seems legit to me.
The picture to the left was taken a mere few minutes after my wife had taken Elizabeth from my arms. One does have to wonder where Elizabeth learned her poses from, if this is a nature vs. nurture situation? The mind truly boggles at the possibilities. This is also probably the best example of why my beautiful, smart, creative, amazing wife deserves to be a saint. It is also the best example of why I insist that all of our friends and family call or text before they stop by our house. This isn't just because there is a newborn in the house, this is pretty much how it is around our house most of the time. Here is to all of your being able to sleep as well as Elizabeth or myself. Thanks for reading and as always...Cheers!
I also know that I don't have any real grounds to be complaining. My wife, who I still think should be canonized by the Pope for sainthood, is breastfeeding. So she is up pretty much every 2-4 hours with an infant demanding that she whip out her boob and quench my her thirst! (sidenote: I have tried a similar technique where I cry and demand a beer brought to me while my wife is shirtless, so far I would not suggest anyone else try this) Since I have yet to learn how to produce milk, I get to either sit there like a goon while my daughter makes that creepy direct eye contact with me, or continue to sleep. I have done my best to stay helpful, but there is only so much a guy can do. Most days I do the dishes, vacuum, do laundry, etc. My wife says that it has been a huge help, but I really can't wait to help out a little bit more once we start to introduce a bottle in a few weeks.
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| Elizabeth insists on posing when she falls asleep. |
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| Dad also insists on posing. "Draw me like one of your french girls Jack." |
The picture to the left was taken a mere few minutes after my wife had taken Elizabeth from my arms. One does have to wonder where Elizabeth learned her poses from, if this is a nature vs. nurture situation? The mind truly boggles at the possibilities. This is also probably the best example of why my beautiful, smart, creative, amazing wife deserves to be a saint. It is also the best example of why I insist that all of our friends and family call or text before they stop by our house. This isn't just because there is a newborn in the house, this is pretty much how it is around our house most of the time. Here is to all of your being able to sleep as well as Elizabeth or myself. Thanks for reading and as always...Cheers!
Thursday, May 19, 2016
Who the hell does this kid think she is?
Greetings and salutations gang!
Just to bring everyone up to speed. I am as new to this blogging thing as I am to this whole parenting thing. I lead a questionable lifestyle for a parent. I drink, smoke cigars, go to concerts, am almost 30 and still laugh uncontrollably at dick jokes, and I am a mild workaholic. My life has changed already in a month, but I have no real intention of really changing any time soon. That should about do it...
Now, on with the show. I love my daughter, don't get me wrong, but she is a sociopath! Her behavior is totally unacceptable in adult society. In only one month of life she has managed to poop, pee, spit up, sneeze and cough on me. A few of those sneezes and coughs were directly into my open mouth and or eyes. I have been "fish hooked" by those little talons that she calls hands. While yawning, her little hand shot out and somehow ended up in my mouth! AND...AND she insists on making eye contact with me while she poops! I swear she knows that I am going to have to change it and, much like a cat, she takes some sort of sick pleasure in seeing the look on my face. She has also started to make direct eye contact with me while see is breast feeding with my wife. It's a look that just drips "Yeah, you wish you were here huh?".
If you don't believe me that this is the work of a sociopath then here is the definition, Sociopath: a person with a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience. Sure sounds like my daughter to me! Not once has she apologized for any of these behaviors. She has even begun to smile after doing some of them. How does one tell the difference between an infant and a serial killer? So far, the only difference seems to be the hand-eye coordination.
This may sound like anger, but really it's jealousy. I would love to spend one day like my daughter does. Being carried around all over the place, when I get "hangry" someone pops a boob in my mouth, and I basically get to be a raging dickhead all day. I truly do love the kid, but if you don't believe that this behavior is unacceptable, then I challenge you to try any of her behaviors at work today. You won't have a job for long. This dude gets it though https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zdtD19tXX30
To be fair though, I have my own dickish behaviors. When people are around I refer to Elizabeth as Ewok. It is my cute little nerdy nickname for her. When it is just Elizabeth and my wife around we refer to her as simply "Da Butt". It is a shortened version of Elizabutt, the nickname we gave her after she pooped all over me during a diaper change. But when Mommy isn't around...her nickname is usually "Shithead". Yes. I am an a-hole. I say it in a very soothing voice and I smile and make faces at her. So don't worry, I doubt I am doing any lasting harm to her. I just enjoy swearing and I am trying to get as much in before she starts actually listening to me and I have to try to stop. The picture is what happens when Dad gets bored by the way and is proof of my dickish behavior. As it turns out, eyeliner is a real pain in the ass to get off an infant's face!
I hope you all have been enjoying the posts so far. I have been very excited to see over 100 blog reads from 3 different countries in just over 24 hours! Don't be afraid to comment by the way. Would love to hear from y'all. I will also slowly be working on some customization for this blog to make it look a little nicer. Thanks for reading, and as always...Cheers!
Just to bring everyone up to speed. I am as new to this blogging thing as I am to this whole parenting thing. I lead a questionable lifestyle for a parent. I drink, smoke cigars, go to concerts, am almost 30 and still laugh uncontrollably at dick jokes, and I am a mild workaholic. My life has changed already in a month, but I have no real intention of really changing any time soon. That should about do it...
Now, on with the show. I love my daughter, don't get me wrong, but she is a sociopath! Her behavior is totally unacceptable in adult society. In only one month of life she has managed to poop, pee, spit up, sneeze and cough on me. A few of those sneezes and coughs were directly into my open mouth and or eyes. I have been "fish hooked" by those little talons that she calls hands. While yawning, her little hand shot out and somehow ended up in my mouth! AND...AND she insists on making eye contact with me while she poops! I swear she knows that I am going to have to change it and, much like a cat, she takes some sort of sick pleasure in seeing the look on my face. She has also started to make direct eye contact with me while see is breast feeding with my wife. It's a look that just drips "Yeah, you wish you were here huh?".
If you don't believe me that this is the work of a sociopath then here is the definition, Sociopath: a person with a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience. Sure sounds like my daughter to me! Not once has she apologized for any of these behaviors. She has even begun to smile after doing some of them. How does one tell the difference between an infant and a serial killer? So far, the only difference seems to be the hand-eye coordination.
This may sound like anger, but really it's jealousy. I would love to spend one day like my daughter does. Being carried around all over the place, when I get "hangry" someone pops a boob in my mouth, and I basically get to be a raging dickhead all day. I truly do love the kid, but if you don't believe that this behavior is unacceptable, then I challenge you to try any of her behaviors at work today. You won't have a job for long. This dude gets it though https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zdtD19tXX30
To be fair though, I have my own dickish behaviors. When people are around I refer to Elizabeth as Ewok. It is my cute little nerdy nickname for her. When it is just Elizabeth and my wife around we refer to her as simply "Da Butt". It is a shortened version of Elizabutt, the nickname we gave her after she pooped all over me during a diaper change. But when Mommy isn't around...her nickname is usually "Shithead". Yes. I am an a-hole. I say it in a very soothing voice and I smile and make faces at her. So don't worry, I doubt I am doing any lasting harm to her. I just enjoy swearing and I am trying to get as much in before she starts actually listening to me and I have to try to stop. The picture is what happens when Dad gets bored by the way and is proof of my dickish behavior. As it turns out, eyeliner is a real pain in the ass to get off an infant's face!I hope you all have been enjoying the posts so far. I have been very excited to see over 100 blog reads from 3 different countries in just over 24 hours! Don't be afraid to comment by the way. Would love to hear from y'all. I will also slowly be working on some customization for this blog to make it look a little nicer. Thanks for reading, and as always...Cheers!
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
But my incompetence knows no bounds!
Hello again all,
My wife gave me one simple task last night. Bring in the hanging flower basket that Elizabeth got her for Mother's Day because we had a frost warning last night. I went out side and I had myself a Moscow Mule and a cigar and wrote my first blog post while sitting on the deck. Then I went to bed. See what I forgot there? I never brought the freaking plant in! The hospital let me bring a baby home when my dumb ass can't remember to bring in a plant! My wife laughed when I told her, but I it was seriously bugging me. How can I be a good dad when I can't even manage to take care of an outdoor plant?! Then I figured that if that plant had crapped all over the deck and then shrieked like a banshee I probably wouldn't have forgotten it. So as long as I don't forget Elizabeth outside during a frost warning, I guess I can forgive myself for this one.
On a totally unrelated note, I feel I owe a total stranger an apology. Well...kind of. In 2010 I was pretty much perpetually drunk for an entire year. Work wasn't going great and my wife (fiancé at the time) was still living in Milwaukee finishing school. One day after a particularly bad bender my roommate, a mutal friend and myself peeled ourselves off of our respective passout locations and decided to go get breakfast. Nevermind that it was 1pm. We drove to Perkins and we looked awful. I remember I was wearing flip flops, pajama shorts, a tank top, and sunglasses. So visually I was a steaming pile and I felt even worse. We went in, sat down and ordered. In the booth behind us there was a couple that had a small child (I am terrible at guessing ages, but he was less than 2) and the couple was arguing rather loudly. Because of this, their child was crying, screaming occasionaly and throwing things. Being a hungover turd of a human being, I had zero tolerance for any of the nonsense taking place in the booth behind me. I whipped around the couple to "Control your freaking brat or I swear to god I will eat that kid just to shut him up!". They got all pissy and ended up leaving very shortly after. So to whom do I owe the apology you ask? The kid. It wasn't his fault that I was hungover or that his parents were Olympic-level assholes. Screw his parents, but the kid wasn't actually doing anything wrong. Luckily, my Elizabeth can do absolutely no wrong...
Cheers for now.
My wife gave me one simple task last night. Bring in the hanging flower basket that Elizabeth got her for Mother's Day because we had a frost warning last night. I went out side and I had myself a Moscow Mule and a cigar and wrote my first blog post while sitting on the deck. Then I went to bed. See what I forgot there? I never brought the freaking plant in! The hospital let me bring a baby home when my dumb ass can't remember to bring in a plant! My wife laughed when I told her, but I it was seriously bugging me. How can I be a good dad when I can't even manage to take care of an outdoor plant?! Then I figured that if that plant had crapped all over the deck and then shrieked like a banshee I probably wouldn't have forgotten it. So as long as I don't forget Elizabeth outside during a frost warning, I guess I can forgive myself for this one.
On a totally unrelated note, I feel I owe a total stranger an apology. Well...kind of. In 2010 I was pretty much perpetually drunk for an entire year. Work wasn't going great and my wife (fiancé at the time) was still living in Milwaukee finishing school. One day after a particularly bad bender my roommate, a mutal friend and myself peeled ourselves off of our respective passout locations and decided to go get breakfast. Nevermind that it was 1pm. We drove to Perkins and we looked awful. I remember I was wearing flip flops, pajama shorts, a tank top, and sunglasses. So visually I was a steaming pile and I felt even worse. We went in, sat down and ordered. In the booth behind us there was a couple that had a small child (I am terrible at guessing ages, but he was less than 2) and the couple was arguing rather loudly. Because of this, their child was crying, screaming occasionaly and throwing things. Being a hungover turd of a human being, I had zero tolerance for any of the nonsense taking place in the booth behind me. I whipped around the couple to "Control your freaking brat or I swear to god I will eat that kid just to shut him up!". They got all pissy and ended up leaving very shortly after. So to whom do I owe the apology you ask? The kid. It wasn't his fault that I was hungover or that his parents were Olympic-level assholes. Screw his parents, but the kid wasn't actually doing anything wrong. Luckily, my Elizabeth can do absolutely no wrong...
Cheers for now.
Welcome to Fatterhood! Or : One New Dad's Quest to Keep His Unhealthy Lifestyle
Howdy all,
This is my first attempt at a blog. I am sure this will be quite apparent in a few sentences. I recently became a father to a beautiful baby girl named Elizabeth Rose. After chronicalling my paternal foibles on Facebook for a month I was urged to start writing a blog based on my fatherly misadventures. So let's start from the beginning shall we?
I was scared shit less when I found out I was going to be a dad. My god the things that went through my head! Am I ready for this? Do my wife and I make enough money? How will it work with my work schedule? On and on. My wife was thrilled beyond explanation, but I did not give her the reaction she had been hoping for. She came out of the bathroom, showed me the test and I just was lying on the bed with a mouth-agape look of shock mixed with horror. First words out of my mouth were something brilliant to the effect of, "Wow...ok...". For context, when we told my best friend he started crying and my wife hit me and said, "That was supposed to be your reaction!".
Over the following months I began to get more excited about the impending fatherhood. I started reading books (laugh all you want, but Pregnancy For Dummies is very well written and helped me a lot!), reading parenting blogs and magazines, etc. I really started to get in to the whole concept. My first "What the hell did we just get in to?!" moment was when we did the baby registry. We went to Babies R Us and started looking around. There were just so many options for everything! My god! An entire aisle of car seats! A showroom full of cribs! And they made it sound like if we picked the wrong one that we might as well pick up a baby coffin to go with it! At that moment, I was both jealous and sad for my ancestors that never had to make such "life threatening" choices. Back in the day you threw the kids in the buggy and hoped none of them died of dysentery on the way to meet the grandparents. Both eligent and terrifying in its simplicity.
On a side note to any expecting parents that may be reading this, the whole idea of Baby Inc. is kind of bullshit. I am not saying that you should strap you newborn in to the front seat with a bungee cord when you bring them home from the hospital, but as long as they are fed, changed, loved, and some common sense is used...you will probably be ok. And whatever you do...DO NOT GOOGLE BIRTH DEFECT STATISTICS! I guarantee that you will just freak yourself out.
Labor and delivery was pretty much textbook. My wife started with contractions strong enough to wake her up at around midnight. Father of the year here, decided that they were just Braxton contractions and decided to polish off a half bottle of wine. It became pretty apparent that it was actually showtime. In preparation I played the two part episode of The Office where Pam goes in to labor. A joke that I still think is funny, but my wife found not so amusing. I showered, let the chickens out and we were at the hospital by 330am.
We got checked in and got settled in the room. The nurses didn't think that my wife was actually in labor since she was able to talk through most of her contractions, but they didn't know my Warrior Princess because she was already 6cm.
Everything proceeded along nicely and at around 10am the Doc said we were a full 9cm and the only thing holding Elizabeth back was the bag of waters. He popped it and then it was truly game time. At 1049am my daughter came out screaming, cone headed and covered in all sorts of visera. They put her on my wife's chest and she proceeded to take her first dump.
It is at this point that I notice the Doc is sweating and has a concerned look on his face. Apparently my wife was hemmoraging due to a complication with the placenta. He was able to stop the bleeding and I was able to cut the cord. My wife was safe and had brought my beautiful baby girl in to the world with zero pain meds. It was a sight to behold.
I shall be doing more posts and updates, but I think this pretty much brings you up to speed for the most part. Stay tuned for more stories about Fatterhood! Cheers!
This is my first attempt at a blog. I am sure this will be quite apparent in a few sentences. I recently became a father to a beautiful baby girl named Elizabeth Rose. After chronicalling my paternal foibles on Facebook for a month I was urged to start writing a blog based on my fatherly misadventures. So let's start from the beginning shall we?
I was scared shit less when I found out I was going to be a dad. My god the things that went through my head! Am I ready for this? Do my wife and I make enough money? How will it work with my work schedule? On and on. My wife was thrilled beyond explanation, but I did not give her the reaction she had been hoping for. She came out of the bathroom, showed me the test and I just was lying on the bed with a mouth-agape look of shock mixed with horror. First words out of my mouth were something brilliant to the effect of, "Wow...ok...". For context, when we told my best friend he started crying and my wife hit me and said, "That was supposed to be your reaction!".
Over the following months I began to get more excited about the impending fatherhood. I started reading books (laugh all you want, but Pregnancy For Dummies is very well written and helped me a lot!), reading parenting blogs and magazines, etc. I really started to get in to the whole concept. My first "What the hell did we just get in to?!" moment was when we did the baby registry. We went to Babies R Us and started looking around. There were just so many options for everything! My god! An entire aisle of car seats! A showroom full of cribs! And they made it sound like if we picked the wrong one that we might as well pick up a baby coffin to go with it! At that moment, I was both jealous and sad for my ancestors that never had to make such "life threatening" choices. Back in the day you threw the kids in the buggy and hoped none of them died of dysentery on the way to meet the grandparents. Both eligent and terrifying in its simplicity.
On a side note to any expecting parents that may be reading this, the whole idea of Baby Inc. is kind of bullshit. I am not saying that you should strap you newborn in to the front seat with a bungee cord when you bring them home from the hospital, but as long as they are fed, changed, loved, and some common sense is used...you will probably be ok. And whatever you do...DO NOT GOOGLE BIRTH DEFECT STATISTICS! I guarantee that you will just freak yourself out.
Labor and delivery was pretty much textbook. My wife started with contractions strong enough to wake her up at around midnight. Father of the year here, decided that they were just Braxton contractions and decided to polish off a half bottle of wine. It became pretty apparent that it was actually showtime. In preparation I played the two part episode of The Office where Pam goes in to labor. A joke that I still think is funny, but my wife found not so amusing. I showered, let the chickens out and we were at the hospital by 330am.
We got checked in and got settled in the room. The nurses didn't think that my wife was actually in labor since she was able to talk through most of her contractions, but they didn't know my Warrior Princess because she was already 6cm.
Everything proceeded along nicely and at around 10am the Doc said we were a full 9cm and the only thing holding Elizabeth back was the bag of waters. He popped it and then it was truly game time. At 1049am my daughter came out screaming, cone headed and covered in all sorts of visera. They put her on my wife's chest and she proceeded to take her first dump.
It is at this point that I notice the Doc is sweating and has a concerned look on his face. Apparently my wife was hemmoraging due to a complication with the placenta. He was able to stop the bleeding and I was able to cut the cord. My wife was safe and had brought my beautiful baby girl in to the world with zero pain meds. It was a sight to behold.
I shall be doing more posts and updates, but I think this pretty much brings you up to speed for the most part. Stay tuned for more stories about Fatterhood! Cheers!
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