Six Lessons from My First Six Months as a Parent

Rob Pollak blog on parenting

It’s been almost six months since Owen was born, and in that time, I’ve learned a lot about the world.  Lucky for you, I have a blog, so I can happily share these life lessons with you. To keep things simple, I have decided to leave out the obvious lessons, like “You won’t need an alarm clock anymore” or “Golf is something you used to do, Rob” or “use a wipe, not your hand” or “moms lose baby weight; dads find it.”  You know these things!

Lesson 1:  The minutes are long, but the months and years are short

At every first birthday party, the parents stand up and say, “Wow, this year really flew by.”  I’m sure that I will give that obligatory speech when my son hits one year.  But what does it really mean for time to fly by?  There are times when I look at my son and think, “Holy shit, he’s a little person.  It seems like just yesterday that I was getting weekly email updates from babycenter.com describing his size as about that of a kernel of corn.  So in some ways, yes, the time flies by.  But sometimes I am equally shocked about how long certain moments feel.  Like I bet you didn’t know that when a baby screams in your ear, you can sing the same verse of twinkle twinkle 14,221 times without the minute hand on the clock moving even once.  Then after giving it all you got and check to see if the baby’s asleep, you look down and see this looking up at you:

IMG_1361

I can sometimes hear him saying, “Nice try, dude.”  When the year is done and it feels as if it flew by, don’t forget about how excruciating some of those individual moments were.  There’s practically a life time in there.  Take one of those long moments to reward yourself for a job well done.  You (I) deserve it!

Lesson 2:  Holding a baby is an amazing lower back workout

There is probably some medical reason why it’s bad to arch your back just so in order to support the full weight of a small human being on your chest  But for now, I’m sticking with it.  In fact, there are a number of ways that a small child can be used like a medicine ball or kettle bell.  I’ll leave it up to you to decide which exercises lend themselves to the child as medicine ball approach, but here’s where I come out:

YES:

NO:

YES (Anne wants me to make it explicitly clear that she says this is clearly a no):

NO:

Maybe:

Definitely NO:

Lesson 3:  If you’re going to use Habanero Tabasco Sauce, wash your hands before you put your contact lenses in your eyes.

This one has nothing to do with parenting, but it’s a valuable lesson nonetheless.  You would also think that it’s the kind of lesson I’d only need to learn once.  Not so!  I once read that it takes 21 times to create a habit.  So let’s just say that I’m well on my way to making washing my hands after Tobasco a lifelong habit.  About 1/7th of the way there to be exact.

Lesson 4:  Getting out of changing a diaper is an art.

Getting out of changing a diaper is a subtle skill, and I am lucky to be married to a beautiful, kind, caring, considerate, intelligent, gracious, tolerant woman who has mastered it.

Here is Anne preparing to diaper bomb me.

Here is Anne preparing to diaper bomb me.

Now don’t get me wrong, Anne changes a shitload of diapers.  Literally.  (Get it?) (Because the diapers are sometimes filled with shit) (You get it) (It was bad.  I know).  But, she still manages to be an expert at the diaper bomb, i.e., handing a fully loaded baby over to get out of changing the diaper, but couching it in terms of love, with some sweet saying like, “Ohhhh, do you want to do some daddy hugs??” which makes me feel so great!  Well played, Anne.  Well played.

How to tell if that diaper is dirty from rob pollak, robcomplains.com

[A brief note to my female readers:  Please refrain from your inevitable comments about breast feeding, giving birth, the physical demands of pregnancy, blah blah blah.  I get it.  Anne does not deserve to be the butt of my jokes.  Well, she can get her own blog, damnit.  Because when she hands me our child in the name of love, but actually intended for me to have to touch shit with my bare hands, then I get to blog about that.  Also, this never happened.  Most of you know that, I’m sure.  Anne is a saint.  (But just to be conservative, I just purchased Annecomplains.com and AnneComplainsAboutRob.com.  Suck it, Anne!!]

Lesson 5:  When it comes to parenting, most people are completely insane.

The other day a friend posted an article on facebook about rear facing car seats.  First of all, who cares what other people do?  Second of all, I freaking read the article and all the comments.  Third of all, the comments were the most amazing thing I’ve read in my life.  Here’s a summary of the comments:

Person 1:  A friend of mine recently switched the seat to front facing because her daughter was screaming so much that it caused her to get in 250 accidents.  When we switched to forward facing, she never had an accident again and the kid went on to the Nobel Prize for Car Seat Safety.  Do you think this is okay?

Person 2:  @P1 – If your kid is less than 15 and is facing forward, you are a terrible person.  I hope you rot in hell.

Person 1:  @P2 – Oh really?  Well you can’t argue with results and my friend’s Nobel Laureate daughter is so much safer now.

Person 2:  @P1 – She might be safe now, but if you hit a pothole, her head will probably pop off.  #RearCarSeats4Life #YouMurderousBitch

Person 1:  @P2 – You probably realized it by now, but my friend is really me.  I lied to you because I was embarrassed.  Sorry I lied on the Internet.

Person 2:  @P1 – I am calling child protective services.  You’re a whore.

Person 1:  @P2 – I hope your kid can sit forward facing in High School, assface.

Let’s put this in some perspective.  When people argue about child rearing on the Internet, logic goes out the window.  It’s completely acceptable to use the small sample size of 1 child as a valid defense to an argument.  If someone says, “it’s bad to give an infant alcohol,” another person thinks it’s okay to respond with, “yeah, but we gave my son a little vodka in his bottle every day until he was 3 and he became a neurosurgeon.”  Just because it worked for A kid, doesn’t mean that it’s the right thing to do.  As Wayne Campbell once said upon receiving a gun rack for his birthday, “I don’t even own a gun, let alone many guns that would necessitate an entire rack.”

Seriously, go read the comments.  I am obsessed:  http://csftl.org/rear-facing-car-seat-myths-busted/

Lesson 6:  Blogging is Hard with a Kid.  When in Doubt, Just Show Pictures.

I’m trying my best!

IMG_1488 IMG_1465 IMG_1497 IMG_1573 DSC_0205

DSC_0190IMG_1620

IMG_1634

The post is over, how does that make us feel?IMG_1630

Advertisements

An interview with random people from the internet about parenting.

My interview with a dad series came to a screeching halt after I completed my interviews of Ryan and Andy.  Apparently I have fewer real life friends than I thought, and those that do exist refused to participate in an interview.  They claim that the photos I chose for other participants amounted to public shaming and that I was being unfair by making up quotes that made the parents seem neglectful.  I thought it was all in good fun, but I guess no one cares what I think.

Thankfully, the internet is loaded with insane, self-aggrandizing narcissists who will agree to just about anything.  Like Jennifer, a popular mommy blogger at Ramblings of a Suburban Mom.

Please note that Suburban Mom is not the same thing as Teen Mom, who has recently hit the news for appearing in a million dollar porno (NSFW but from HuffPo so also KindaSFW).

Jennifer and her husband, “B” kindly agreed to let me interview them.  They seemed like a perfect choice for this series because the Suburban Mom once linked to my blog and an army of humor-deprived moms gleefully clicked the link and laughed and laughed and laughed.  I’d like that to happen again, and I imagine she’s now obligated to share this link with her devout followers.  ‘Sup ladies.

Before we get started, a bit more context about Suburban Mom:

1) A portion of her website is devoted to Tupperware.  Sometimes the jokes just write themselves.

2)  Another portion of her website reviews boxes.   I don’t understand the concept, so you’ll have to check it out yourself.  Just trust me that it’s worth a click.  I wasn’t convinced until I saw her review of the Boink Box.  The review wasn’t particularly interesting, but I laughed every time I said Boink Box out loud.  Twelve times.  I said it twelve times.  Boink Box.

3)  Suburban Mom and I are not facebook friends, so the photo-roast portion of the interview will be brief.  I scoured her blog for good pictures, but there were disproportionately more pictures of those stupid boxes than of her kids.

Here’s a picture of two kids that I am 80% certain belong to her.

And here’s a picture that was published under the guise of being a cute picture of her kid when it’s really a thinly veiled attempt by the dad to show off his abs in the sunglass reflection.  Nice try, B.  (more on this later).

Let’s get to the questions:

Rob Complains:  Thanks for joining me today.  You do realize that many of your answers will appear in highly edited form, correct?

Suburban Mom:  Of course.  But I’d do anything for a handsome, charming, physically fit specimen of a man like you, Rob.

Rob Complains:  You’re too sweet.

Rob Complains:  I’ve noticed that you write about 85 blog posts per week.  How do you find time to write, and do you think it’s acceptable to sedate your child for a few hours if you have a good idea for a blog post?

Suburban Mom:  Ha!!!  I stay up late, very late. Sometimes past Jimmy Kimmel late.  That’s why my grammar is so bad in my posts.  It’s way to hard to trie and right a blog post and entertain two kids at the same time.  Not happening.  Although; if I REALLY need to write a blog post, their our always snacks.  And TV.  I gotta tell you, Sponge Bob can entertain a kid like you wou’ldnt belief.

Rob Complains:  You ain’t lyin’ ’bout that grammar, girl.  Weird.  I’m not sure why this just turned into an episode of In Living Color.

Speaking of blogs, it’s normal for a spouse to demand editorial control over blog content, right?  Right?

Suburban Mom:  My husband might be the most laid back person on earth.  I think it’s the only way he can tolerate being married to me.  We are total opposites in that way.  He does not care what I write.  At all.  He’s a cool guy.

Rob Complains:  He does sound like a great guy.  Hmmmm.  Maybe a little too great.  How does he feel about having shirtless photos of himself posted all over the internet.  Do you give him advance notice, or does he just have a Google Alert set up for “sweet pecs” so he receives immediate notice when you post one of these:  

Suburban Mom:  B just laughed when I asked him this question.  He knows there are shirtless pictures but doesn’t mind.  He looks good.  I wouldn’t care either if I were him.

Rob Complains:  I wonder whether Anne would say such flattering things about me on her blog.  If Anne reviewed boxes, all of the reviews would be like, “I received an amazing box of flavored popcorn, candy, and ice cream.  Rob ate it all before I got home.  He said it was very good.  

And about those boxes:  When you review things on your website, do you get them for free, or do you spend a shitload of money on boxes of essentially worthless crap?

Suburban Mom:  I get this question a lot.

Rob Complains:  Oh really?

when you review things on your website  do you get them for free  or do you spend a shitload of money on boxes of essentially worthless crap     Google Search

Suburban Mom:  Anyway, I get a lot, okay most, of the boxes free.  The box companies will ask me to do a review and will send me a box free of charge.  Lots of the boxes have referral programs too, so like if 5 people sign up using my links, I get a free box that month.  It’s a pretty sweet deal.  It combines two of my loves.  Getting things in the mail.  And free stuff!

Rob Complains:  You hear that ladies – she’s using you.  Here at Rob Complains About Things, we’re in it only for the glory.  I would never sell your personal information.  Even for a Boink Box.  

By reading this post, you agree to allow me to sell any and all of your personal information 

Of all the things you’ve reviewed over the years, what are the must have items for a new parent?

Suburban Mom:  The baby crack machine and a sense of humor.  The baby crack machine is just a sound machine with a projector feature.  It’s like $20 and buy it for everyone having a baby.  It’s amazing and I swear, your kid will sleep better with it.  We used it with my older until he was maybe 3 and I swear, that kid sleeps like a ROCK.

And the sense of humor, well, you need one as a new parent.  It’s possible that, without a sense of humor, you could lose your mind.  I mean it’s not like anyone will be sleeping.

Rob Complains: Not Tupperware?  I know you’re into that shit.  What is this, 1977?  

Suburban Mom:  LOL!!!  But Tupperware is cool!  I swear.  They have so many cool gadgets and stuff. It’s not just bowls.  My husband even uses (and loves) all my Tupperware stuff.

Rob Complains:  Wow.  You really sold me with that.  Not just bowls but other things.  Like lids?  They have lids now?  WHERE DO I SIGN UP?!?!?!

Next question:  Do you notice anything missing from this list of blogs you love?  Anything?  Anything at all? 

Links I Love   Ramblings of a Suburban Mom (1)

Suburban Mom:  I suck right?  

Rob Complains:  Yes, that’s certainly what I was implying.

Suburban Mom:  In all fairness, I haven’t updated that list in ages.  When I get around to it, I will put you up at the top for sure!!!

Rob Complains:  Well, gee.  Thanks so much.  That means so much to me that when you get around to it at some yet to be determined time, you will move me to the top of the list.  

Question For your husband:  How much sympathy weight did you gain?  How much should I gain?  Did you try to keep up with your wife on the lb a week thing?  Because that’s a lot of ice cream, right?

Suburban Mom:  My husband is a jerk and didn’t gain any weight.  He can eat whatever he wants and never gains a pound.  Or if he does, he loses it all in like a week.  I kinda hate him because of it.  But wait, I didn’t know your wife was pregnant????  Where on earth have I been?  When is she due?  What is she having?  And again, where have I been?  I need all the details on this!  Can I send you guys a baby subscription box??

Rob Complains:  Well, I guess that’s why I’m not on the list of blogs you love.  Because you don’t read it.  I hate you and this stupid interview.  Which brings me to my next question:  Adult Boxes!  Heyo?

Suburban Mom:  This just proves there is a box out there for everyone!  They are also my husband’s favorite box category.

Rob Complains:  Really?  I would have thought he’d be more of a Tupperware guy.

Suburban Mom:  I think he likes when I text him pictures of these box contents when he’s at work.

Rob Complains:  Is it just me, or is anyone else getting uncomfortable?

Suburban Mom:  Ohh, and I gotta tell you, the “Adult” boxes are the ones that get the most clicks on my blog.  Seriously.  Maybe all the wives are buying them so that their husband’s don’t notice or don’t care when 10 other subscription boxes arrive at their house every month?  I can totally see that working.

Rob Complains:  That’s fraud.  What’s gonna happen when your kids find this interview and your blog in like 7 years?

Suburban Mom:  If my blog (and yours) are the worst things they find on the internet, I think we’ll be okay!. Heck, I hope I still even have a blog in 7 years.

Rob Complains:  Why’d you have to lump me into the worst things on the Internet.  This is not going well.

Suburban Mom:  I can say whatever I want now because no one’s reading this far down anyway.

Rob Complains:  That’s true.  Let me get to the boring questions that make it seem like you do actual parenting: 

How often can I justify eating ice cream by using it as a bribe to get my kid to do something?  And how early can I Start doing that?  On that note, can I ban my kid from eating sugar but just basically mainstream it into my system with no regard for how hypocritical I am being?  When do kids learn the word hypocritical?

Suburban Mom:  You can start bribing them AS SOON as they are born.  For example, when my oldest was a baby and I was a new mom up every few hours for weeks on end because my husband was out of town.

Rob Complains:  See!  I knew he was a dick.  He was probably at an Ab conference.

Suburban Mom:  I told the kid I would buy him a car when he turned 16 if he would just sleep through the night.

Rob Complains:  You know that he didn’t understand that, right?  

Suburban Mom:  And what do you know, he started sleeping through the night at 5 weeks.

Rob Complains:  I’m just going to promise our kid all the Tupperware in the world.  

What do you wish you had known before you had a human being to take care of?

Suburban Mom:  That kids don’t have to end your grown-up fun.

Rob Complains:  Yeah, we get it.  You and your husband get adult boxes.  Enough already.

Suburban Mom:  When people say things like, wait till you have kids, you’ll never go on vacation / eat out alone / sleep again, it’s not true.  At all. You can do everything you did before kids after you have kids.  And it’ll be more fun!  Except super duper long plane rides.  Kids aren’t too into that.  Taking care of another human is better than you think it will be.  People mention the long nights and the crying and they love to share their horrible labor stories with you.  But they forget to mention all of the good parts, like newborn snuggles and that newborn smell.

Rob Complains:  You mean, meconium?

Suburban Mom:  Mmmmmm yes!  It makes me want another baby right now!  Ohhh, and I also wish I would have known that everyone and their brother has an opinion on how you should raise your kid.  It’s quite annoying when some stranger at Target tells you your baby should be wearing a hat even though it’s 90 degrees out.

Rob Complains:  Yeah, good point.  Remind me not to take advice from any random strangers I meet over the Internet.  

Last question: What’s one thing that you did to your kid that you’ll never admit in public?

Suburban Mom:  I’m laughing just thinking about answers to that.

Rob Complains:  You should know that I exercised an amazing amount of self restraint by not writing an answer to that question for you.  Every one I tried made you seem like a bad person.

Anyhow.  Thanks for joining me.  I hope you send lots of your loyal readers to my blog and then they click here to follow my facebook page.

A surefire way to offend a room full of pregnant woman

I learned a valuable lesson recently.  When dealing with pregnant women, it’s sometimes best to keep certain thoughts to yourself, even when those thoughts may be factually accurate and supported by science.

Let me explain.  A few years ago, before I discovered yoga, I fancied myself something of a runner.  I was no Dean Karnazes, but my weekly mileage often soared into the double digits.  I envisioned a future filled with health and happiness, jogging strollers and Gu packs, spandex onesies and body glide.

All those dreams disappeared one cruel day at the TriBeCa Equinox.  Fresh off a sub-60 minute 10-K, I set out to become the world’s chubbiest sprinter by employing a training theory called “Speed Work.”  To do speed work, you supposedly just start at a nice warm up pace and then add periods of sprinting followed by a nice easy cool down.  I did my first speed work session on a treadmill.  I began with a nice warm up at 6.0 MPH and, when the time was right, cranked that puppy up to 6.2.  Whoa baby!  I had that thing  humming!   I loved speed work!

I’m a very logical person, so the next week when I tried speed work, I thought I should progress to see whether I’d improved.  Indeed I had.  I did my short warm up at 6.0 MPH and then steadily increased the speed to about 100000 MPH.  Here’s a video of what happened:

About half way into my last lap of speed work, I pounded my foot into the treadmill belt and screamed out in pain.  Fine, it was more of a yelp.  Or a whimper.  But holy hell did it hurt.  I limped off the treadmill and immediately consulted a medical professional, WebMD, where I learned that I definitely had either cancer or scoliosis.

Some more research and a trip to an actual doctor confirmed my worst fears.  I had something called Morton’s Neuroma, a thickening of the nerves between the third and fourth toes.  Anne still questions the existence of this condition.

Although I am prone to exaggerate things, I hope you’ll believe me when I describe the pain.  It felt like there was a little pebble in my shoe and every time I took a step, the pebble caused me a slight degree of discomfort.  On some mornings, the pain got so bad that I would take one, or maybe even two Tylenol.  On the worst day, I had to use extra strength gel capsules.

You might be asking yourself, “why is Rob talking about Morton’s Neuroma?  How does this relate to offending pregnant women?”  Good question, and believe me, I know exactly what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, “why is this jackass trying to predict what I may be asking myself right now.  He doesn’t know me.  He doesn’t know anything about me.  I wish he’d just write about yoga again.  Or interview Ryan again.  That guy was funny.”

Well it turns out that studies have shown that Morton’s Neuroma may be as painful as childbirth (refer to the section on symptoms).  Lucy Waite, a well-established blog commenter over at the Angry Orthopod summed it up best.  She said, “[The] only comparison [to Morton’s Neuroma” is natural child-birth, which I did four times.”

A comparison of pain - Morton's Neuroma and Child Birth - Drawing by Rob Pollak

Who knows if the pain caused by Morton’s Neuroma actually is anything like child-birth.  Lucy Waite, that’s who.  But in case you don’t believe her, then let me give you some helpful advice:  If you ever find yourself in a hypnobirthing class where scared pregnant women are discussing their fears about pain, just keep your mouth shut.  I promise you that they will not feel comforted when you say, “Actually, I’ve had a Morton’s Neuroma, and according to studies conducted by researchers at KimsFoot.Com, it is supposedly just as painful as child-birth.  I didn’t think it was so bad, actually.  In fact, a little cortisone should clear it right up.”

My body remains still and limp: My first experience with Hypnobirthing

If you’re not familiar with hypnobabies, then look into my eyes.  Are you getting sleepy?  Yes.  You’re getting sleepy.  Very sleepy.  You’re entering the deepest sleep you’ve ever felt.

A drawing by Rob Pollak hypnobirthing and hypnobabies

When I snap my fingers, you will have an uncontrollable urge to share the link to my blog with everyone you know.

In the meantime, while you sit in a blissful state of heightened relaxation, let me tell you about hypnobabies.  To my surprise, hypnobabies has nothing to do with this Pokemon:

Nor does it have anything to do with a bunch of boozy babies slugging back this:

As I now understand it, Hypnobirthing is a French cult that brainwashes pregnant women with hippie-ish tendencies into believing that they will have a carefree and pain-free childbirth.  In other words, it’s the epidural without the shot or pain relief.  It achieves this by stealing your Friday nights during the height of Spring and placing you in a windowless corporate room with other terrified parents-to-be.

For the first hour of class, our Birth Professor read from the Hypno-manual and told stories that were meant to calm the nerves.  She told us that we don’t have to listen to friends who share the horror stories from their 91 hour labor.   “Thank god,” I thought as I listened to her proceed to tell us all the bad things that can happen if we don’t follow her instructions.

Or even if we do follow the instructions, how sometimes hypnobirthing can be so relaxed that the baby might slip out and become injured.  Like the time a Pilates instructor hypnobirthed and became so vaginally pliable that, while in labor, she went into a squat so deep that her baby cartwheeled out of the birth canal and hit his head on the ground.  Thankfully, the child was fine and he immediately found himself in happy baby pose while the doula checked his vitals.

Here’s how Hypnobirthing actually works.  You’re supposed to repeat certain affirmations in order to train your brain that the experience of labor is not a war between the body and the baby.  We practiced in class and discussed the way the affirmations can truly change your mindset.  It really did seem relaxing.

Here, try it with me:

My body remains still and limp

My body remains still and limp

My body remains still and limp?

Well, gee.  Wasn’t that empowering emasculating.

Here, let’s try another one together:

My cervix opens outward and allows my baby to ease down. 

My cervix opens outward and allows my baby to ease down. 

My cervix opens outward and allows my baby to ease down. 

Ahhhhhh!  Pure bliss.  I’m feeling better already.  You?

For me, the highlight of class was the first snack break.  Professor Placenta distributed these amazing French cookies.  The pregnant moms looked on in horror when I took two from the box, especially the mom at the end of the circle who may have gotten no cookies because of me.

It may have seemed like a dick move at the time, but as you’re about to see, proper nourishment can be very important for hypno dads.

After the break, the teacher explained that we would be moving to the video portion of the evening.  She wheeled in a sweet flat screen and popped in a DVD from 1974.

We watched two videos.  The first was an amazing five-minute birth, edited to make it seem as if labor involved no blood, no screaming, no pain, or no crying.  It’s exactly how I imagined labor to be when I imagined it involving a stork.  I felt better about the process and even started to wonder if I could stray from the North end zone in a few months when we’re in the delivery room.

That feeling of wonder was quickly shot down.

Video two:  A very relaxed mom and her husband wait for the big moment in the delivery room.  They laugh and joke as if they didn’t have a care in the world.  They probably didn’t, but the second film was directed by the Stanley Kubrick of Hypnobirthing videos.  A quick cut sent us from the laughter and joking to the inside of what’s medically known as “up in the business.”  There, a brand new child with a head the size of rottweiler began corkscrewing its way through an opening the size of nostril.

As the child moved down the birth path, the temperature of the classroom suddenly increased by 12,400 degrees.  I looked up to my left to see how Anne was taking it.  All three of her seemed to be taking it quite well.  Those buttery French cookies that earlier had been so delicious now felt as if they had lodged in the portion of my esophagus just north of digestion and south of regurgitation.

On the brink of collapse, I put into practice all the tricks I had learned during the first hour of class.  I bobbed my head in rhythm and recited every affirmation I knew:  Mycervixopensoutward Mycervixopensoutward Mybodyislimp Mybodyislimp.

I felt much much better until a second later when a pool of blood gushed out of the birther’s upinyourbusiness and then the other things that come out came out.  I don’t know what these were, but one looked like an alien with an eel connected to it, one looked like a sac of breast implant, and another looked like this turkey chili Anne once cooked for me.

Pass out

Frenchie walks over and turns off the video and says, “so, Vhat did zoo theeenk?”  At least that’s what I think she said.  It was hard for me to hear her voice, which was being drowned out by the birds circling my head and chirping.  I stared up at her and tried to respond, but I could barely see through the bright light that I was slowly gliding towards.

At that moment, I leaned forward in my chair and took hold of my head.  Anne emerged from her state of hypno-meditative bliss and finally caught a glimpse of me.  “Why do you look like the guy from Powder?”  She asked.  “Are you okay?”  She reached over and gently rubbed the top of my head, a move she instantly regretted when she felt my sopping brow.

Amazingly, I didn’t faint, but I was brought back to full consciousness by Anne’s audible laughter at my expense.  I shared with the class that I had just almost passed out, and everyone had a good laugh at my expense.  Although I was embarrassed, I like to consider my light-headedness as an act of macho bravery.  You see, after mocking me for a few minutes, each of the moms went into reassurance mode and explained to me how I had nothing to be afraid of and how the whole thing’s not so bad or scary.  In other words, by nearly passing out, I effectively allayed all of the fears that these women had expressed in the pre-cookie portion of class.  You’re welcome ladies.

Before we were dismissed, I asked the teacher if anyone had ever fainted when they saw those videos.  She responded with a curt “non.”  That’s French for “no, you pussy.”

Technically speaking, the answer to my question remains the same.

Suck it, Hypnobirthing.

Real Answers to All of My Ridiculous Parenting Questions

Although my moula search rages on, many of my questions about parenthood remain unanswered.  To stay on top of things, I’ve decided to go right to the source.

For the next few weeks – or until I run out of willing participants – I’ll be conducting a series of interviews with dads.  They have kindly agreed to answer all of my ridiculous questions about my quest to become the perfect father to the perfect PGA tour golfer.

First up in the series is Ryan. Ryan is a dad of a Parker, a rambunctious 3 year-old boy.  This is Parker: Continue reading