Archive for December, 2009

Babies are Stupid

Babies are kind of dumb. I don’t mean that in the pejorative sense. They just don’t happen to know anything at all. It’s not really their fault. They have a brand new brain and need to take some time arranging and filling it up. Their brain doesn’t really work like your brain does, not yet. This is a critically important thing to understand. It will save you a lot of frustration over time.

There are a lot of things that babies do that can annoy people. Non-stop crying. Making messes. Dropping things over and over again. It’s very easy for a parent to begin to anthropomorphize their baby’s actions. The baby is not doing things to irritate you. It doesn’t know what it is to irritate someone. It’s not even cognizant of its own emotions in a rational way, let alone yours. They’re blank slates, and as such your reactions to their many foibles are very important.

Take crying. It’s their only option. If you can’t stop a baby from crying it’s because that baby is bothered by something. Don’t take it personally. It can’t indicate to you in any useful way for a couple months what it wants or needs. It doesn’t speak your language. It can’t really even see things properly. Most of its limbs don’t really work right, or are ruled by instinctual reflexive responses. All it can do is make noise and hope that the bad things will get better.

The “dropsies” game is another prime example. I’ve been around parents who get fed up with their kid playing the game where you hand it a toy, and it drops it on the floor. And then you get the toy again, and then it drops it on the floor again. When babies are older, repetition is what they like to do. They’re learning about cause and effect. The toy drops, it makes a noise, someone picks it back up and gives it to them. Repeat. Cause and effect is basically the foundation for ALL of your intelligence, so indulge the kid a bit.

This little tid-bit kind of blew my mind when I read it a week or so ago. Consider this same “dropsies” kind of game with a very young baby, a couple months. When that kid drops his toy, as far as he’s concerned that toy has ceased to exist. It has left his sphere of recognition and it may as well have been vaporized. Does the baby seem to get upset when you leave the room? Yeah, it may have just occurred to him that you have VANISHED COMPLETELY FOREVER. Of course, there’s no concept of forever yet, but you can see why it would be upsetting. So any of those little lessons you’ve been trying to impart, think about how well those are sticking around.

Around about 36 weeks old (so roughly nine months), it will be considered a pretty major accomplishment that you baby can now do things like:

– Sit up for 15 minutes.

– Pick things up with fingers.

– Lean without falling over.

Realize that everything your baby does is hard. Things that you now take for granted were the product of, essentially, months of intensive physical therapy for you as an infant. Everything is hard, and sometimes that will be upsetting for a baby and sometimes the fun stuff will be the stuff that might make you crazy. But take it in stride because as your baby gets older, it becomes more and more like a sponge and if it sees that your reactions to everything is to be annoyed and impatient, well, guess what?

This extends even to older kids. They don’t think like us big kids. Prime example: I went to see Avatar opening night in a big-ass IMAX 3D theater. Seated next to me were a husband and wife who had brought their infant (couldn’t have been more than 6 weeks old — she miraculously slept almost the entire 160 minutes of the film) and their two year old girl. The two year old was also pretty well behaved, but she started to want to get up and shake seats in front of her and talk and sing little songs to herself. Her father would lean forward and say things like “Be quiet, honey. Don’t you want to see the rest of the movie?” Well, no. No she does not want to see the rest of the movie. She’s 2. She cannot follow a lengthy dramatic narrative. She doesn’t know what 60% of the words people on the screen are using are.

What I’m saying is, newsflash, kids are not adults. Remember this and try to see the world from their perspective a bit and save yourself and everyone else a bit of stress.

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Merry Christmas!

Unless you don’t do the Christmas thing, in which case:

It’s Friday! You’re not at work!

No post today. Get off my back. Geez.

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Sexual Relations

*does a headfake move and dekes around you*

Oh, you fell for my salacious title, did you? Welcome to the blog, sinner. No, this isn’t a post about knowing someone biblically (which, when you think about it, is just a super creepy phrase), it’s a post about the brouhaha surrounding the decision to discover the sex of your baby. What? I could have just called this post “Gender Relations” and it would have been less weird? Nobody asked you.

This seems to have become the hot button issue for expectant parents. Moreso even than the eternal battle of Boy vs. Girl—something I’ll get into in a later post—people have strong feelings about whether or not you should find out the sex of your baby before it arrives. Proponents of finding out seem to be largely motivated by shopping concerns. They’d prefer to be snagging pink and blue items, and not the neutral green and yellow. To be fair, shopping concerns are motivated by excitement over the arrival of a new baby, but it’s a pretty heavily cited reason. Advocates for not finding out cite the excitement and mystery surrounding the whole affair.

Admittedly, as my Dad has said to me, who your baby will be when it arrives is one of the big mysteries in life. What will it look like? Will it be healthy? What will it be like? And, of course, will it be a boy or a girl? Teasing out the discovery at least of the gender until the very end can make for quite the reveal when the day actually comes. It’s pretty tempting. Is it odd that the temptation here is for the delayed gratification? I’m going to say it is.

Now, to save myself from a hailstorm, I’m going to announce that Janelle and I do not know what we plan on doing with this yet. Our appointment is in January and it’s entirely likely that we’re going to pick on the fly just based on our feeling of the situation the day of.

But… my feeling is that the problem with not knowing is very simply the pronoun involved.


My parents managed to sidestep this issue by referring to my sister and I by a generic name when we were in the womb. That way, they didn’t have to always be talking about “it”, like they were discussing an expansion to their master bedroom or something. I think that for me I would have trouble calling the baby by a generic name to give it a bit of a persona to interact with and not just assuming it was a certain gender already. My thinking is that as long as I’m already presupposing a gender, why not just be correct about it? I don’t have a preference for the baby’s gender (not really), but I don’t want to get attached to the idea of a boy or a girl and then risk even having the slightest bit of disappointment that I didn’t get my pick.

But finding out the gender is tricky on the off chance that anyone you know would like it to be a surprise. My Dad, again, would like it to be a surprise, and I don’t particularly want to ruin it for him if we opt to find out. Janelle doesn’t really like surprises; they make her feel anxious when she focuses on them too much. She does, however, like having a secret. If I had to bet, I would say that come January, we’ll opt to find out the baby’s gender—but we aren’t telling.

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The Parent Trap

I’m a good six months away from being a dad and the experience is already giving me some new perspective on the world.

I’m not that old. By most accounts, I’m very young. This is true despite the fact that at my company’s recent Christmas party as Brick House came on and various peoples got up to shake their groove thangs one of my techs, a 21-year-old, looked at me very earnestly and asked “So, is this like your generation’s party music?”

In spite of my youth, I am going to be a father. This is something normally reserved for adults. My entire life, parents have been people who are older than me who, by virtue of their greater experience in life, outrank me. Suddenly, this entire ranking system has either entirely broken down or enveloped me completely, depending on how you look at it. It’s making me think about parents in a very different light. Specifically, my parents.

My parents were only a couple of years older than I am now when they had me and though the times, they are achangin’, it can fairly be assumed that they were living a life not unlike my own. They had hobbies and friends and evening plans that had nothing to do with entertaining me. They were just like me, and let me assure you, I am totally awesome. Ergo…

So much of our perception of our parents is forged in the infernal fires of adolescence, when our brains don’t work right and we are all assholes. What we tend to recall is that our parents are the rulemakers. They are the boundaries that delineate the course of our lives and depending on how they handle things we may remember fondly that they really straightened us out when we needed it, or we remember that they would just not stop being all up in our grill about things. Either way, we remember them as a point of authority by and large. If we’re lucky, when we get a bit older we can befriend our parents and the relationship evens out into something that it should really resemble all along.

Remember that there was a time when your parents were everything to you, and you were everything to them. They took time out of their lives to have you, and reshaped everything they do as a result. For years, you are very literally incapable of surviving without them and your eventual separation from them into an independent life is at once their greatest triumph and tragedy.

I’m not going to make a sappy entreaty for you to pick up the phone and reach out and touch someone. Don’t forget that your parents have been here before. There was a time, really not that long ago, that they were you.

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The Babymoon

A babymoon has become a new, vogue concept for parents-to-be. The idea is that you have one last hurrah before you crank out a little one who will make considerable demands on your time for quite awhile. Trips to the spa, vacations to tropical resorts, jet-setting for a bit. That sort of thing. I don’t think that Janelle and I will be planning any specific babymoon action. We were able to take a trip to Italy earlier this year, and I think that covered us for major travel for at least the entirety of this year (which is, admittedly, drawing to a close).

My concept of what will comprise our babymoon is a bit different from the intended definition. To date, a lot of my commentary regarding the baby has been guarded. I profess my excitement over certain matters, but what I’m really discussing are the things that preoccupy my mind. It’s created a bit of a skewed perspective. I’m not really that terrified. I’m looking forward to a renaissance for myself. I’ve talked at a fair length on the blog about my concerns regarding having enough time to fulfill my semi-professional, personal and social concerns. My babymoon should help take care of that. I may not be traveling the world, but I will be taking a lot of time for myself.

Part of why I’ve decided that 2010 will be a big year for me (baby, home, writing projects galore, etc.) is that the introduction of your baby to the world can afford you a lot of free time that you never had before. Yes, babies are demanding and require near-constant attention when they are awake—but that’s when they are awake. Adults likely sleep about eight hours a night, as a rough average. A baby will put you to shame in this category.

Newborns sleep around 17 hours a day. Between 1-6 months, around 15 hours. 6 months to around 2 years is about 14 hours. Babies get a bad reputation for sleep because they don’t rest through the night in a consistent chunk. It’ll be tough for both parents, but moreso for Mom, if she’s breastfeeding (more on this in a later post). As a Dad, take advantage of this time to continue to sleep. It’s better you be sharp and ready to help out during the day so that Mom can catch some rest when she can manage.

You’ll also want to learn to nap when your baby is napping, but my point is that babies sleep a lot. It’s one of the only things they know how to do. When they sleep, though, it’s time for you to get in touch with your hobbies. Board games, video games, reading, writing, drawing, DVDs, television. The general assumption is that these are all things that need to be given up once a child enters into the picture. But why? You’ll be busier and you’ll have more errands to run, but there is downtime and you should to fill that with the things that you enjoy doing.

Naptime aside, there is a fair amount of free time to be found with a young child. The time leading up to the birth date will incapacitate the mother more and more. She’ll get tired more easily, joints will be stiff and sore. Depending on the overall quality of her health, she may end up bedridden for weeks ahead of time. This places a fairly large damper on your usual social plans, so you’ll likely be at home a lot, taking in a quiet evening. Try not to spend all that time just zoning out.

The same goes for after the birth; you’ll be hanging out at home a lot. Friends will come to you, relatives will drop in to visit. It’s important you are spending time early on with your baby to bond, but as the child gets older and you have friends and family who are available and willing to help you should take advantage of that help. It’s good for the kid and it’s good for you.

Try and think about the number of things that having a child will help you start doing (even if it just gives you a good reason to finally start watching Saturday morning cartoons again) and don’t think of how you might not be able to stay out late as much.

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Tummy Talk

A pregnancy seems as though it should be a concrete thing. A fact. Either you ate that sandwich, or you did not eat that sandwich. Either you are pregnant, or you are not pregnant.

It has started out for me as a very abstract thing.

Janelle is very lucky. So far, after 16 weeks of pregnancy, she has had virtually none of the troublesome side effects. There have been no bizarre food cravings (something I was actually looking forward to her being seized by)—the extent of her new tastes has been a desire to avoid chicken. She has experienced slightly more heartburn than would be normal, but we’re in the midst of the holiday season and traveling a lot, so our normal schedules and diets are in upheaval anyway. There has been no sickness for her at all.

Couple this with the fact that we’re still too early on for her to be showing (first-time moms tend to take longer to show a bit of belly—the body is basically busy going, “Wait, you want me to do what? You’re telling me I have to move all this stuff around? Did you put in a work order? A month ago? Shit.” And so things take some time while it hunts down the appropriate permits for the expansion project), and it has been pretty hard to really call the pregnancy a tangible thing.

Ultrasounds, which are run of the mill wonders not unlike “Oh, right. We put MORE people into space to live for months at a time. Whatever,” are the first real evidence that you are, in fact, carrying a baby around. They all haven’t just been playing an elaborate prank on you. At first you will just see a smudge on a screen and have to be told by someone with a degree on the wall and a lab coat on their body that you, in fact, are looking at a baby. And then they’ll let you hear the heartbeat. This was my first “Oooooooh” moment. Partially I was unaware they even had that ability, but it was also amazing to see the forcefulness of life present in something about the size of a pea. At that size, the baby seems very literally to be all heart. It beats very fast. It’s hard at work. The next ultrasound will show you the beginnings of a baby as we recognize it [see last Monday’s post for examples].

These are just glimpses. For something that is about to dominate your life and very likely alter it permanently, you may have almost no tether to grip and tell yourself its all real. I’ve tried to start talking to Janelle’s stomach as well, but it still just feels like I’m talking to a stomach. However, the baby has ears. In fact, it’s around 16 weeks that the baby will not only be able to hear, but will also react to sounds. The reactions are basically just the baby gyrating around or having its heart-rate change, but it does hear.

I’m going to start trying to talk to the baby more. I think that will help everything feel more real throughout and it won’t all of a sudden be “Oh, there you are” in a couple of months when Janelle will be definitely showing. Treating the baby as if it is already here and already a part of my life and routine will, I hope, make for an easier transition come June when things really will get turned upside-down.

An added benefit of talking to the baby is introducing yourself to it as much as the other way around. You’re going to have an advantage when that baby comes out. You’re expecting it. You know what’s up. That baby will have no idea what the hell just happened to it and who you people are. But it will recognize, even if only on the most fundamental level, your sound. The Mom has a clear advantage here, the baby will hear her voice as often as the mother talks—and it will hear it better, as the sound is conducted through the body. A Dad will sound a bit more like the parents from the Peanuts cartoons (“Mwa wah wah wah wah. Mwa wa wah wah.”), but it’s better than nothing.

My schedule is already becoming something I’m trying to delineate more and more. “Spend some time reading a novel. Read a chapter in the baby book. Write the blog Mon/Tues/Wed. Write the novel Tue/Thur. Watch TV off the DVR.” I’m going to add on “Talk to the baby.” We’ll sit on the bed, I’ll prop myself up on my elbows and the abdomen and I will have a little chat.

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The Club

I’m not a fan of smoking. Smokers… it’s a mixed bag. Depends how cognizant you are that it’s a habit that affects people around you. One thing I gotta give smokers, though, is that they stick together. There’s an unspoken bond forged between smokers in the fires of shared ostracism and hardship. They share cigarettes and lighters. They gather together and stand around, chatting. They recognize one another in a crowd and nod, knowingly. There’s probably a secret handshake. I’m going to say it involves pounding one hand into the other like you’re settling a pack of cigs, coughing, spitting on the ground and then doing a chest bump. What I’m saying is that they’re in a club.

There’s another club. The Parent Club. It’s the same type of arrangement. You band together almost instinctually with other parents. They’re going through or have gone through the same things as you. Maybe they have supplies you need to borrow. Certainly they’re accustomed to the smell. In a time when you are very likely to be self-conscious about the new level of mess and noise that comes out of your little cabal when you are out and about, the Club will help you realize that you’re not alone and that, no, you can’t really do much about all the ado. There’s war stories to share and the kind of stories to relate that are only amusing to people who have lived through the experience.

Not everything about being in the Club is awesome. There are assumptions that will be made. One is that because you are a parent or will be a parent that you want to hear advice from and have conversations with random strangers concerning your and/or their child. Another is that at some point in time, once your partner has begun showing enough tummy for it to be clear that she’s pregnant and not just exuberant about HoHos, her stomach region will become public domain, like a park or the Old MacDonald song. It will belong to everyone. They will rub it and say hello to and place their hands on it and hold them there while they talk about the little baby inside. The thing about talking to someone when your hand is on their belly is that you need to avoid all Western notions of personal space to do this.

I’m trying to come up with a way to staunch the flow of belly touching. I have some front runners. Yelling, “She’s just fat!” as people lay on hands, for example. Or “She’s contagious!” Maybe I’ll just carry a riding crop and swat at hands.

You will also hear horror stories from pregnancy experiences of others. Tales of days-long labor and things ripping in ways that make me want to curl into a ball forever. The whole thing will be awkward for both of you, but mostly awkward for her. This is something a dude will never experience. Try and think about walking through a supermarket and having an old lady sidle up to you, rub your stomach and then talk to you about how horrible she had gas when she was pregnant right before she asks you if you’ve had any problems with gas lately. Horrifying, right? Maybe next she asks if it’s twins and then you realize you’ve just been told you look fatter than you already thought you were. Not exactly a party.

It’s worth coming up with a little system with your partner. Maybe it’s not a riding crop to the back of the hand, but quick look at a phone or a watch and a declaration of “Look at the time, we’ve got to get going” or simply an exasperated “Hey, let’s go, babe. I don’t want to be here all day.” People already expect you to not be sensitive about the pregnancy, so let your douche-flag fly to spare your lady the trouble.

The trick with The Club is not to make it exclusive. It’s all well and good to gravitate towards other parents or expectant parents, but your Club should include your friends. They can handle the occasional icky bit along with all the cute baby stuff, and if they opt to not want to put up with it, then it’s not terribly likely they were very good friends to begin with. It’s become an eye-roller to cite “It takes a village”, but it does, however I don’t mean it in the typical usage. I wouldn’t necessarily say you need a ton of people to raise the child, I think that gets you quickly into a too-many-cooks kind of situation. The village is your village, your support structure. You’ll spend all your time assuming that all your attentions must be on raising a baby and having everyone help with that. But remember that healthy, happy parents are a critical part of a healthy, happy child and for that, you’ll need your Club.

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Great Expectations

The countdown is running. As of today I believe I am 15 weeks into a 40 week timeline. And yes, you read that right, everyone calls it nine months, but it’s 40 weeks.

One of the most frequent questions you will be asked after telling anyone you are expecting a child is, “Are you excited?” It’s such a loaded question, but the expected answer is that you will be absolutely ecstatic. After all, you’re both fulfilling some sort of biological imperative AND you get a cute (maybe) baby out of the deal. Sweet, a two-fer!

To me, that question is far too complex to ever possibly hope to answer truthfully and completely, so I just place my hands in my pockets, shrug up my shoulders, tilt my head, crook the corner of my mouth and say “Oh, yeah. Excited.”

I am excited. I’m pretty good with kids and spend a fair amount of time whenever I’m out spotting and pointing out cute little kids to my wife. But I also am  equal parts terrified, unsure and already not looking forward to certain things, and I think that’s entirely natural. I am excited to welcome a new baby into the world because baby’s are fun. They’re cute and have hilarious rolls of fat in awkward places (fat knees! Who has that?!). They make fun noises and it’s a blast to watch them learn things, especially if you’re the one who taught it to them (a crowning achievement for me remains when I taught my niece to run around going “Om nom nom nom”). I mean, come on, it’s a baby. It’s pretty hard to not find anything at all to like about a baby.

But see where things are going already? I’m excited, but what am I excited for? Cuteness and fun. Those have to rank easily in the top five of things that it’s pretty easy to be excited for. Cuteness and fun do not, for the record, a baby experience make.

I’m terrified about how I’m going to assist a child to grow up into a functional human being. Have no doubts about it, there are approximately eight hojillion bazillion ways to just totally screw up a kid. And I have no doubt that I will instill a healthy numbers of flaws despite any and all of my best efforts. I just hope they’re the small ones. I like to think that I’m good at giving advice. These things are common sense, by and large. When I offer advice, though, I’m shooting from the hip, working on the fly. Frequently I’m postulating ideas about situations and people and the world as I talk, fitting pieces of a puzzle together as I go. A child takes planning. There are behavioral patterns to establish. Examples to set. Disciplinary measures to mete out. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think any number of books on child-rearing are going to prep me for that.

I’m unsure about how much my life is going to change. Another question you’ll get is “Are you ready for it?” Pfffft. Anyone who says they’re ready is a fool. Hit them in the face, too. They might be on the drugs. You may as well walk up to me and say, “Hey, how are the next two decades of your life going to turn out?” I hope it’s going to be nothing but ridiculous, uncontrollable fun. I know that it won’t be. There are going to be hard times. Sickness and injury. I’m going to powerless to help in situations that will be tearing me up inside many, many times. My wife have been together since May 28, 2001 (note to self: bookmark post in case in a few years I can no longer remember anniversary date). We’ve been married since May 28, 2006. We are not party animals by any means, but we are accustomed to a certain lifestyle. What will happen to my friendships? I don’t doubt that some will change and perhaps even fade away. What will happen to my hobbies? Can I keep writing? What about playing games or watching TV? Reading comics? Hanging out with the guys on Sundays? I don’t know that any of these items will still be things that I can enjoy. I may not miss their lack when the time comes. The decision as to whether or not I can continue them is not mine to make, though. The needs of raising a child will dictate that to me when the time comes.

And what of my wife and I? In close to nine years together, we’ve still never had a major argument. We’ve never yelled at one another. We fight and annoy each other plenty, but they’re the kind of spats you’d have with any of your close friends and forget about as soon as a commercial comes on that you both like. Soon, we’re going to be tired, stressed and opinionated. It’s going to be difficult to tell how we’ll be able to maintain the same degree of emotional involvement and attentiveness with one another. I plan to focus very heavily on keeping this at current, optimum levels, but it might not be possible because that’s just how things go.

I won’t spend too much time on things I’m not looking forward to already, as I have plans for other posts specifically devoted to those items. Suffice it to say that I’m not a huge fan of handling poop.

I’m sure I’m painting the portrait of someone who is not, in fact, jazzed to be having a kid. What I am, though, is a dude who wants a kid, wants to have one around this time in his life, and is trying to be very realistic and very prepared for the ups and downs. I don’t want to have a kid and then be disillusioned by the child. Things are going to change, and be funky and difficult and awesome.

So, am I excited?

Oh, yeah. Excited.


It’s a Mom’s World

The Mom gets a pretty raw deal. To start with, there’s the actual carrying of an infant to term. There is no analogy for a man. Outside of contracting a disease that plays havoc with your hormones and having a tumor weighing on the order of eight pounds in your abdomen and then trying to pass said tumor through your more sensitive bits, there’s no possible way a man can really fathom the process. By all accounts it’s a very unnerving, sometimes wonderful, typically uncomfortable proposition. Once the child is born, its apparent the process has wreaked no small amount of havoc on your general physique. If you are breastfeeding, you are then, by necessity, up every few hours all night long for a few months to respond to a hungry newborn. And then, all to often, let’s be honest, the lion’s share to entirety of the responsibility for raising the child is hefted upon their shoulders. Throw in a day-job and you’ve got a party.

But that’s not what we’re hear to talk about. What of Dad? Browsing through the staggering amount of on-line and print material related to childbirth and childrearing, the answer is clearly, “Who? Oh, that guy. He’s got a chapter over there in the back.”

These books take the standpoint, a priori, that the father is an afterthought. Entire chapters of content will bear the impression of being written for both the parents in mind until a throwaway sentence drops in, “Try to encourage Dad to do this as well.” Or “This is something the father may enjoy doing with the baby from time to time.” There are little breadcrumb hints scattered about that suggest that you’ll need to prompt a father to give a rat’s ass about his child. He will need to be cajoled and convinced that his help is appreciated and that it might even be fun to hang out with a baby.

Books that are for fathers tend to be thin, or primarily focused on humor in a wink-wink-nudge-nudge, stand-up comedy in the 1990s “What’s up with women, huh guys?” kind of fashion.

This is my principle impetus for this blog. I wanted to create a resource for Dads in any phase of their Dad development. I wanted to write something that assumes at the outset that you are or would be the kind of father that wants to help out. You want to be involved because it’s not your partner’s child that you are allowed to see (well, the court’s may have deemed that to be the case for some of you—but I can’t help you there), it’s your child together. It was created via a joint effort (sexiest way of phrasing that ever) and will be raised the same way.

But at the same time, you are still a guy. Nay. A dude. You have hobbies, fears, concerns, expectations, a job (maybe) and these are all things that are part of the process. Sure, once you and your partner are pregnant it becomes basically the only thing you talk about. It’s an omnipresence, a nine-month time bomb. It does not, however, become your entire life. Even if you’d like it to be, the outside world marches on and you need to remain lockstep with it.

I’ll be covering it all. I write this thing three times a week. I’ve got six months left until the baby is born and I can’t imagine I’ll have less things to say about the process once I’ve been through it and there’s an actual child in my hands. You can expect a great many posts about all of this. There will be a pretty good breadth of topics, from observations to what amount to diary entries to tips and tricks, but I want my central message to remain the same.

You’re a Dad, and you’re not alone.


Wherein Announcements are Made

2010 is going to be a huge year for me. In some manners of reckoning, it will be the largest I’ve had since I started having them, yea those many years ago.

My wife and I are looking for a home, and will hopefully be in one during 2010. As corollary to that I will enter into the first actual debt of my life, which I don’t relish. I plan to have finished a (crappy) first novel and at least one (hopefully pretty awesome) screenplay. I hope to continue trying to improve and advance my career. I plan on losing at least 10 pounds.

And I will become a father on or around June 4, 2010.

Starting Wednesday, this blog will consist of posts about impending fatherhood. I’ll be sharing thoughts and experiences and hopefully providing a point of reference and commiseration for anyone else who has kids, is planning to have kids or wants to know what another dude is feeling about the whole experience. It’s my plan to be as honest and irreverent about this process as I try to be about most everything else.

Without further ado, the pictures. Bask in their glory. I, for one, welcome our new infant overlord.

Annotations are serious business. Click to enlarge if you so wish.

Annotations are serious business. Click to enlarge if you so wish.


Click to enlarge.


Click to enlarge. DO IT.