Daddy Diaries, Part 1: The Baby Won’t Stop Raging

My super-power is carrying babies, diaper bags, and groceries at once.

I’m 31 years old, and surprisingly, one of the first of my friends to get married and have a baby. A lot of them still think stress means not finding what you want to watch on Netflix and are absolutely perplexed at my new responsibilities. So to help aid their confusion, I’ve put together a list of what it’s like to be a new dad.

Babies are fast. If you think Usain Bolt is the fastest human on earth, I laugh at you. You’ve obviously never watched a baby accelerate out of an open door of your home, pick up a fist full of grass, and almost eat a roly-polie.

Babies are slippery. My daughter knows how to break out of the baby gate like it’s the ending to The Shawshank Redemption (also see point 1).

Babies don’t care. My daughter smashed my $150 pair of Maui Jim sunglasses into two pieces then started clapping and singing the itsy-bitsy spider like nothing happened. Total jerk move.

Babies are strong (part 1). Have you tried to wrestle with a baby who’ve shit themselves, but don’t want their diaper changed? They’re like little honey badgers and will fight you.

Babies are strong (part 2). I’ve been clocked in the eye, kicked in the throat, and scratched in the cornea all in span of 3 seconds. It hurts physically and emotionally, and makes you question your ability to take an actual punch by a grown man if you ever get into a real fight.

(The three P’s)

Poop. I am Diaper Dad, and no, it doesn’t gross me out. What does stress me out however, is taking the poop trash to the outside bin. I pray to the heavens each time that the bag doesn’t rip. It’s my worst nightmare.

Ponytails. WHAT IS THIS SORCERY? Seriously. Tying one is absolutely impossible. It requires a degree in physics. Seeing my wife do this activity one handed on my daughter makes me go bananas.

Protection. You realize how many weirdos there are in the world. I’ve become hyper-aware so come correct when you approach my family. All men are guilty before proven innocent. I am a ticking time-bomb. Proceed with caution. I’m awake even when I’m sleeping.

Babies know how to rage. When my daughter is loaded up on breast milk, she gets super human strength (little she-Hulk). She goes harder than a college student who just got initiated into a fraternity.

Babies sleep weird. Face-down, butt in the air. Who does that? Nikki Minaj maybe?

Diaper money. Babies are expensive. Save your sperm. Buy a boat.

Exhaustion. I am a very invested father, which means everyday at 5pm, I take off my work hat and for hours until bedtime, put on my daddy and husband hat. So technically, I have two full time jobs so sorry if you catch me staring blankly into space at nothing while looking directly at your face as you try to talk to me. I need a nap always.

Coffee. I am obsessed with it. I dream about it. I can’t function without it.

The future. I wonder what type of woman my daughter will become.

Stress. I wonder if I can show her the good amidst all the bad in this world.

A total softie. I cried when she came into this world and will cry when I have to hand her over to the person she falls in love with.

My wife. I don’t know how she does it. She deals with two babies (me and the actual baby) on a daily basis, runs the house, and has a difficult full-time job. I will hold her hand and put her on a pedestal until my last breath.

Love. I cannot explain the love I feel for the tiny human I co-created with my wife. Hearing her say da-da makes everything worth fighting for.


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