It has been said that when children are born, instructions are not included with them. I, however, have evidence to the contrary.

In the months since the birth of our daughter, we have accumulated enough manuals and instruction booklets to keep a small team from Ikea busy assembling and running safety checks until she starts kindergarten.

We have three strollers, each with a set of instructions save one. That stroller came with four separate manuals.

Our car seat, which came essentially fully assembled, still included a 66-page instruction book. This car seat is so durable that you can strap a watermelon inside, drop it from a skyscraper and your fruit would still hit the ground fully intact.

We have several contraptions to hold our baby at different angles and heights. Instructions are not NOT included with any of them. Thank God because these devices have multiple settings and options so they sing, swing, soothe, rock, turn, swivel and tilt in various combinations and speeds. Our early favorite, a rocker, included all of the aforementioned. We call it “The Flying Saucer.” You place it under a sunny window and your baby rocks to a soothing beat until they drift off for hours of uninterrupted nap time. The instructions for this item mimic a kid’s “choose your own adventure” coloring book because of the many options for the rocker’s final use. Other seats simply sit and hold your child in one place just above ground level. Those multipage-instruction books all boil down to one simple demand: “Place seatbelt on the child.”

We have four baby carriers/slings: two for outside travels and two for in-house use. One outside option I use to take our daughter to the park daily. This baby carrier also comes with a sleeping bag attachment to keep her warm in the severe weather; those instructions are drawn in pictures on the tag. The other outdoor baby carrier is so structured and has so much storage space that I could take my child and a week’s worth of survival gear up through the Himalayas. The manuals for that, oddly, are fairly basic and straightforward.

We have attained three high chair/table seating devices. One is an ordinary A-frame type that we use next to our dinner table. Another is a travel unit that connects to any table. The third one is a “sturdier” (according to my wife) travel unit that she assures me we will need at some point. When we reach that point is anyone’s guess. These items are a bit more in-depth with instructions on how to secure your children and attach them to fixed furniture. Well, you do eat more often than you hike through Nepal.

We also have two night-sleeping units. The master crib, adorned with all of her stuffed animals hanging from each corner, was put together in the early days of pregnancy. The instructions were many, yet straightforward enough to understand the different stages of converting it from a crib to a bed as she grows. We have a co-sleeper unit that, I’m guessing by its name, aids your child in sleeping dependent on the parents. Our daughter slept in it one evening, next to our bed, until my wife decided it was easier just to lay her in our bed. So that may be the end of that. I’m thankful. Should we ever need to explore the different height settings of this co-sleeper unit, the manual and its photos indicate I might need to go back to school for a different degree.

As the seasons have changed and the blooms kick in we have had to utilize the nose suction device that pulls the runny snot from inside your nostrils. Fun for the whole family! This is not a favorite of our little girl but it’s effective. And the pictures in the instruction book are worth a thousand words!

There are, of course, many other useful items — toys, first aid, soothers, and clothing, to name a few — that we regularly use. All are accompanied by pages and pages of words that I keep in a specific drawer. And while I prided myself on never reading instructions on home goods before her birth, I am now certain to follow all manuals to the letter when assuring the safety of our little one.

They keep us all sleeping soundly! Well, most of us …

About the author

Robert Brawley is a West Coast kid who moved out to NYC. He and his wife are the proud parents of a beautiful girl.

“Instructions Not Included” was first published in 2013. Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko via Pexels.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one about broken friendships comes from 2016.

To excited first-time parents-to-be, I would offer encouragement and well wishes, but a bit of sobering advice as well: Be prepared to lose some friends. Most experienced parents know of this phenomenon of broken friendships. I think this effect is felt even more acutely by gay parents.

Fact: I have lost more friends becoming a gay parent than I have coming out as gay in the first place.

I have always been a bit of a nerd. In grade school, I wasn’t a popular kid, but I mingled with a group of similarly studious friends. Two of my best friends, “Rich” and “Nick” remained tight with me even after we all went to different colleges. When I came out of the closet in college, I was pleased both were accepting of me and remained close friends well into adulthood.

Rich and Nick were in turn friendly when I introduced them to my partner, Josh. Even though the three of us lived in different places, when we visited we would all hang out together like old times. Nick would share his girlfriend problems. Rich invited Josh and me to celebrate his engagement and his wedding to his wife. It was around this time that Josh and I started talking about having children in earnest.

Just like Rich and Nick shared their major life events with us, Josh and I were excited to share about this endeavor with them. Rich was clearly in a happy place in his life and was happy for us when we shared the news. I remember calling Nick to giddily tell him how Josh and I were going to California to look into gestational surrogacy.

My heart sank when he responded by saying, “Why are you telling me this?”

Change in status, change in attitude

It became clear Nick did not understand why we would ever want to have children. He was not particularly happy for us. I ended the rapidly deteriorating conversation and hung up before it became an argument.

We exchanged superficial pleasantries at Rich’s wedding, and then we did not speak for about two years. Around the time that we were planning our children’s first birthday party, I received an email from Nick. He asked, “Whatever happened between us?” As if he was oblivious to how my feelings were deeply hurt.

I responded angrily. He knew very well what happened.

Nick responded, stating openly what I knew to be the truth all along: He disagreed with two men raising children. He thought it would adversely affect children to be raised in a non-traditional household.

In retrospect, I believe Nick was fine with the novelty of having gay friends who hung out in gay bars doing stereotypically gay things. However, as soon as his gay friends decided to be real people and live their lives outside of a socially acceptable second-class box, he became disapproving.

After our children were born, many good friends, most of them gay, faded away more slowly. In our first few years living in Florida, Josh and I had amassed a large group of gay friends. Most had no interest in having children, but they were all happy for us when we announced we were expecting.

After AJ and JJ were born, I appreciated that these friends continued to invite us to events. Because we were busy with twin babies, though, we would either pass or send one of us out to have fun while the other stayed with the kids. Inevitably, the invitations became fewer and far between. More broken friendships, but unlike with Nick, no hard feelings were involved, so I don’t fault these friends in the slightest. Our unusual situation as gay guys with kids just didn’t fit into their social calendars neatly. That’s OK.

Losing so many friends over the years both gay and straight, either suddenly or slowly over the years, I have only a touch of sadness. In place of these friends, I have a large beautiful family.  These four children bring me unlimited and enduring joy and fulfillment.

About the author

David Hu, left, is a proud father of multiple multiples. He and his partner twice went through the gestational surrogacy process, creating a family with two sets of twins. This post was originally published on David’s blog, Rock And Ledge, and on City Dads Group via our partnership with The Handsome Father. Main photo: © ROBERT/ Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This Father’s Day recollection comes from 2015.

Until my own first child was born, fatherhood was just what my dad did, and all I had ever done was take it for granted.

My earliest memories are of sitting on his shrinking lap, a slice of jean-covered thigh quickly losing ground between the random growth spurts of a lanky boy and the constant expansion of an ex-smoker’s belly. I sat there for years sharing tickles, snacks and forgotten conversations. There was a montage of facial hair, and I was captivated by its splendor or the sudden lack of it. Everything was long legs and gangly tussles. I nestled happily in the swell of my father’s contentment.

The years stretched and the stories we planted sprouted stories of their own. The days passed, blooming with milestones, lessons, and the fragrant sweetness of life in hindsight. Fond memories wafted down a timeline, always spinning toward what will be and always remembering what has been. The scent was fantastic and the world somewhat dizzy.

We spent days together that grew into weeks, rolled into months, and segued into years as smoothly as you like. I was hanging one arm out the window of a blue and bruised Datsun pickup, home in the welcome give of a worn bench seat, my father popping pistachios in time to an AM radio already out of date. I was bronze and blond, buck-toothed and skinny, and I was glorious against the sinking horizon that we spend our whole lives chasing. My father was a smile in sunglasses, a song on his breath, and he was younger than I ever knew.

The journey also took us through fields of frustration tended with firm hands and cultivated by consequence. There were sidetracks and shortcuts, disappointment, and discipline, but all days ended in sunsets and every morning the sun would rise. There were birds in the distance and a whistle brought them nearer.

At some point, our kisses fell from lips to cheeks to hugs masked as handshakes. The emotions on our sleeves grew heavy and hard to carry. Life has a way of twisting and testing, and it wrings out the innocence with the sweat and the tears, leaving two grown men in the shade of all that we built, awkward with gratitude and loving one another.

I remember the day I called my dad to tell him the news. He was at work in Arizona, and I was states away, sitting in a parking lot with my wife and our giddiness.

“You are going to be a grandfather,” I said into the phone. His joy was instant and electric.

I spent the next nine months trying to examine the examples he had given, preparing to cross to the other side, the fatherhood side of my experience. My wife and I went on long walks through wet, winding woods, and we talked about the things that we would do when the baby came. We were all things but patient, and we walked around again.

“It’s a boy,” I said through more tears than rain. My father had been sleeping with the phone by his side and had answered before the first ring ended. “You have a grandson.”

And then I rambled about the all of it — full of I-had-no-ideas and now-I-sees. I got it, suddenly, like a swift kick to the head I never knew I needed. The road opened wide before me, and the future teased us all with a glimmer, orange and bright, warm with promise and paths untaken. Then I returned to my wife and our new baby boy, him bundled tight and her softly sleeping. The room was already spinning with fatherhood and motion.

Then three years later we did it all again, but this time with dimples.

Now I spend all my days on the dad side of the fence, where the grass is always greener and in desperate need of trimming. It is my lap slowly shrinking and my shadows being cast. We are the stories being written and we are living in our memories.

I don’t see my own father often enough, but I see my boys every day. Their eyes are like time machines, always racing toward tomorrow, taking lessons from the past, and making the most of the now well before it passes. And it turns out, my father is here, in all of that. The next time we meet I will tell him so, and perhaps a small kiss upon the cheek will show him.

Fatherhood isn’t just something my dad did. It is something he taught me, and it is a thing we do together regardless of the miles between us.

And so it goes. The shadows we cast grow longer as the days grow shorter. We wax and we wane. We give love and we take love. That is the way of fatherhood, and I wouldn’t have it any other.

I learned that from my father.

This post first appeared on Honea Express. An earlier version appeared on Safely.com. Main photo: © ivanko80 / Adobe Stock. Other photos: Contributed.

When you search the term “best parenting podcasts,” one thing sticks outs immediately: the resulting lists of shows are overwhelmingly aimed at moms. Well, there’s another half to the parenting equation. Here’s a list of some of the best parenting podcasts where fathers figure prominently in the mix.

The Art of Fatherhood

Art Eddy knows dad podcasts. He’s produced or hosted them for the Life of Dad social network for years. His baby these days is the Art of Fatherhood. He interviews dads from the worlds of entertainment, music and sports about their latest projects and … being a dad, duh! Recent guests have included former MLB pitcher (and father of a certain two-time Super Bowl MVP) Pat Mahomes, actor Paul Dooley, and comedian Tom Papa.

Black Fathers, NOW!

City Dads Group contributor Mike Dorsey is an author, business entrepreneur, community organizer, speaker and — yes — podcaster. Dorsey aims to redefine and uplift the image of African American dads through inspiring discussions with engaged black fathers.

Dad, Can We Talk?

Creator Anthony Ray started this podcast to combat the negative stereotypes about black dads. Dad, Can We Talk? features black fathers with diverse backgrounds who share their journeys to provide, nurture and love their families in the face of today’s challenges for men — especially men of color. Ray chats with father friends, a few celebs (including actor Taye Diggs) and even brings his two sons for a heart-to-heart.

The Dad Central Show

Dad Central is a Canadian nonprofit organization working with the Peterborough Child & Family Centres in Ontario. In business for two decades, it bills itself as the “most trusted name in fatherhood in Canada” with the goal of helping dads so they can “improve the lives of children.” Their parenting podcasts feature candid conversations with fatherhood role models, topical experts and real dads to inspire and assist others in this worthy pursuit. (Note: A recent one featured Amar Lohana, founder of our Toronto Dads Group.

Dad House

City Dads Group contributor Shannon Carpenter, who also is a co-organizer of our Kansas City Dads Group, and four of his at-home father friends yuck it up on any and everything. They also bring on friends and experts to add to discussions on topics such as your child’s first cell phone, the life of a rural father and where to go to check out the local craft beer scene.

Dad Mind Matters

Host James Macdonald, a father of three, subtitles his podcast “Parenting, Marriage & Mental Health For Men.” Dad Mind Matters focus on topics appealing to first-time and new dads who may be feeling the stress of parenting, in terms of raising a child and keeping their lives together. His parenting podcasts, often less than 15 minutes in length, offer concrete suggestions on subjects such as how to handle toddler tantrums, or passive-aggressive partners, and improving your mental state.

Dads with Daughters

OG dad blogger Christopher Lewis, a co-founder of the nonprofit Fathering Together, interviews experts on topics that will help you raise a strong independent woman. The podcast aims to highlight promising practices that will help fathers better understand themselves as well as their daughters while encouraging dads to be active participants in their daughters’ lives.

First Class Fatherhood

Host Alec Lace interviews high-profile fathers — from NFL stars to UFC fighters to Navy SEALs — about their careers and how they play into their most important work as dads. Dads.

Home Dad Chat

This fatherhood podcast from The National At-Home Dad Network, co-hosted by Cincinnati Dads Group organizer Brock Lusch, covers a wide range, of topics facing fathers today. One podcast will cover the ongoing fight for paid family leave and the new “Dad Caucus” in Congress while another will look at the debate about children attending drag story hours, all with a personal touch. Home Dad Chat also draws from audio from the At-Home Dad Network’s exclusive webinars and its HomeDadCon conference speakers to add weight to the discussions.

Best parenting podcasts for dads photo: © DC Studio / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: Mental health issues are among the many things most people, men in particular, are reluctant to discuss. Former Boston Dads Group co-organizer James Mahaffey has no such fear. In this 2013 post from our archives, he writes frankly about the male postpartum depression he experienced following the birth of his daughter.

Once, possibly twice, during my first three months of parenthood, I found myself huddled in my home office, secretly and somewhat reluctantly shedding a tear in the dark. A very dignified and manly tear, that is. The kind that wells up and glosses over just the bottom half of the eye before stoically leaping like a cliff diver descending in a super quick, unquestionably deliberate, straight line down the cheek, never to be seen again.

This tear was brought on by a combination of things.

My newborn’s constant piercing screams.

The unexpected disagreements with her mother on what to do during those times.

My guilt for the occasional “bad” thought many parents have felt at some time but rarely admit.

I remember wondering if I was “depressed a little.” I had been feeling this way for longer than I cared to admit. It was a feeling I couldn’t seem to shake.

And, as a man, I didn’t necessarily know what to do except secretly cry in the dark.

It wasn’t until we were at the first post-birth checkup that I even thought about my manly tear incident again. Typically at this appointment, women fill out the Edinburgh Depression Scale to find out if they are experiencing “signs or symptoms associated with postpartum depression.” After reading the questions I started uncomfortably laughing. I began to feel like someone should be asking me the same questions.

I didn’t carry or give birth to a 7-pound human being. However, I have been there from day one and every day since our daughter was born. It’s not like the shrieks and cries of an inconsolable baby or the physically and emotionally draining late nights and resulting sleep deprivation were her mother’s to experience alone. I was up with her, helping out (and suffering just the same) as much as I could through all of those early tests of parenthood.

But maybe it wasn’t male postpartum depression I was experiencing. Maybe something else was going on inside of me. The first three months are one of those stages where I do believe certain mothers are better equipped than fathers to withstand the irritability of their newborn. CJ didn’t seem to be as emotionally affected as I was.

So when CJ was filling out the form, I made a column for myself next to her’s so I could also answer the questions. We went in and I, of course, made light of my little “cry for help” that manifested itself in the form of a drawn-in column on a post-partum questionnaire. She laughed a little, too. In fact, we all laughed and then we got back to focusing on CJ.

But should we have?

The issue is real. A 2010 study published in the Journal of the American Medical Association found that about 10 percent of fathers become depressed before or just after their baby is born. This is more than double the rate of depression in the general male population.

Men’s mental health is rarely discussed and is almost taboo in some scenarios. This is another reason why I grew a mustache in November to raise awareness and funds for the Movember movement. For two decades, the movement has raised funds and awareness to combat prostate and testicular cancer make people. In more recent years, Movember has added a special focus on mental health.

Please help others worse off than me. Raise awareness of paternal depression and keep an eye on your father friends, especially those with newborns. No dad needs to suffer in silence anymore.

About the author

After nearly being “shhh-ed” to death while his daughter napped, filmmaker James Mahaffey decided to vlog about his journey at “Becoming a Ninja: Freedom to Fatherhood,” where a version of this post originally appeared.

Male postpartum depression photo: © pololia / Adobe Stock.

A meme poking fun at parents who had to balance the holidays with throwing parties for their kids who had mid-to-late December birthdays recently floated around the internet. As soon as I saw it, I had to chuckle because, in the middle of trying to make sure everything was in order for Christmas, I had to think to myself, “What about Eden’s birthday?” Sure, the Amazon orders for my son’s gifts from Santa had already been placed, and my wife was taken care of, but what were we going to do on the 27th, my daughter’s birthday?

Back in mid-2021, my wife learned she was pregnant with Baby No. 2. At that time, we were finally finding our footing as parents of a 2-year-old. We were sleeping pretty well and were in that sweet spot before the “terrible twos” really started to show their ugly face. Nonetheless, it was exciting for us to soon grow from a family of three to four.

I did the math in my head and guessed we were likely looking at a December baby. When we went to the OBGYN for our first appointment, they confirmed that Baby Girl Hudson would be due on Christmas Day! Throughout that year, I was back and forth on where I stood on having a Christmas baby. On one hand, I thought it would be really cool. I have some friends and family who are Christmas babies and they love it. And besides, it would be the easiest birthday to remember. On the other hand, I thought about how difficult it could potentially be to try and balance a child’s birthday with everything that comes with Christmas. I thought about how my child would possibly never be able to have a “real” birthday party because her friends would always be with their families and loved ones on Christmas.

Fast forward to December 2021. Christmas eventually came and went with no baby. Our precious Eden ended up coming two days later on Dec. 27. Although it is still the holiday season, she’ll have a day just for her.

As we approached her first birthday a few weeks ago, it was a joy to be able to celebrate with our extended family who we were with for Christmas. It made me realize that balancing the holidays with your child’s birthday isn’t a bad thing at all. We ended up singing “Happy Birthday” and having cake the night of Christmas. It was the perfect end to a beautiful, albeit long, day. Just as I did when my son turned one, I took some time to reflect on my first year as a girl dad and father of two. Three things (among many others) have stood out:

Experience matters

When our son came along, I had no idea what I was doing. I’d never changed a diaper before he was born. It was trial by fire until we sort of figured out what we were doing. When Eden came along, I was three years in the game as a dad. A seasoned vet. I was a more confident dad this go-’round. There was really nothing that surprised me during her first year. From how to deal with the early sleepless nights, to going to the pediatrician, to being able to read and understand my wife in her postpartum state, having “been there before” made this past year much smoother.

Children can fill lifelong voids

As an only child, I’ve always wondered what it was like to grow up with a sibling. I never really dwelled on it because it was just the way life ended up for me. However, now as a dad of two, I catch myself in awe of their interactions on a daily basis. While things got off to a rocky start with Emory being jealous at first, now that we’re a year in, they are inseparable. They go to school together, play together, and show each other affection. It has allowed me to experience something as a dad, I didn’t know I needed. It’s amazing to watch – even when it gets a little testy between the two.

Little girls will melt your heart

My friends told me to get ready. Those guys who were already girl dads warned me that there would be nothing like it. That my little girl would have me wrapped around her finger. I didn’t believe it would be like that. Boy, was I wrong. I love my son unconditionally. We have a father-son bond that I pray lasts forever. But a daughter’s love is different. This past year, I’ve been softened by her presence. Her smile eases the pain of a rough day. She has given me another reason to be the best dad I can be, and even more of a reason to look forward to the holiday season each year.

Photo: © yanlev / Adobe Stock.

The most frequent question I’ve heard from family and friends over the past month and change has been some variation of “How’s Emory adjusting to being a big brother?”

Nothing remotely related to how I’m doing, or how I’m adjusting to being a father of two. Just, “How’s Emory?”

But I digress.

The answer? It really depends on the day. Overall, he’s handled the transition to big brother status like any other 3 year old would. There’s curiosity in that he is unsure at times of who this new little person in his space is. There’s a combination of excitement and enjoyment in that he loves to tickle her and pull at her hands and feet and, in return, is tickled by her response, or lack thereof. And there have been hints here and there of jealousy. Especially in moments where the routine he’s enjoyed with my wife has now been interrupted by her having to nurse and give attention to his little sister. (Ed. Note: For tips on dealing with an older sibling being jealous of a new baby, check out this article on Very Well Family.)

In the midst of what has been an adjustment period for our family, there have been moments when my wife or I will be holding Eden, and Emory will come and calmly sit with us. And for those 30 seconds or so that he’s still, the reality hits us: We are a family of four. We have two kids now. That reality is extra special for my wife and I because we are both only children. In the stories of our respective lives, growing up with siblings was something neither of us had.

So, in this season of parenthood, we are not only learning how to raise two kids under the age of 3, we are living vicariously through them because they’ll experience a life we didn’t have. As their dad, I’m excited for them to have each other and to grow up together and hopefully share a close brother-sister bond. I always dreamed of having a brother or sister. And while that wasn’t in the cards for me, I’m grateful that my children will know what that feels like.

I’m also interested in seeing how I’ll handle some of the challenges that will surely come with having two kids. How will I deal with the fights and disagreements they’ll have when one of them doesn’t want to share? How will I make sure I’m giving each of them the right amount of attention? Will I discipline Emory differently than Eden? If so, how will that affect the other?

These are some of the things my dad didn’t have to worry about when raising me. These are things I didn’t have to worry about growing up. It was nobody but me. And my wife had the same experience. In seeking advice from our parents, this is the one thing they can’t speak from experience on. We’ll just have to figure it out. And yes, we have plenty of friends and family who are parents who grew up with siblings, but when my wife and I are in the house and we have two screaming kids running around, we’ll have to figure it out on our own.

Emory’s going to be a great big brother. I’m actually envious of him. As he figures out his new role, I’ll be right there with him, learning too.

Photo: © sonsedskaya / Adobe Stock.

As we got closer to the hospital, it all started to come back to me.

The bike trail that runs parallel to the Potomac River.

That Citibank sign at the intersection.

The quiet, picturesque street lined with 19th century single-family homes that led us to our destination. 

Prior to this particular Sunday evening, I hadn’t been to this part of town in a while. Yet, it somehow felt like just the other day.

About 90 minutes earlier, my wife started to go into labor. We’d timed the contractions and once they got close enough together, we called her doctor. Then we loaded up our bags and began the nearly 20-mile drive to the hospital where our baby girl would be delivered.

Once we made our way into the hospital lobby, a sense of deja vu came over me. A little over three years earlier we made the same drive, parked in the same garage and walked down the same hallway on our way to becoming parents for the first time with our son, Emory.

Here we were again, the second time around at fatherhood.

While the familiarity made the trip to the hospital less stressful, it also put me at ease as we got situated in the room and prepared for our daughter’s arrival. It was as if I was a seasoned veteran about to play a big game. I was experienced. I’d been here before. I knew the routine.

Doubt, uncertainty become confidence

With all the uncertainty that had flooded my brain in the previous months leading up to the transition from being a parent of one, to having multiple kids, going through the birthing process for the second time presented a calmness that was a bit surprising, yet very welcomed.

Don’t get me wrong. It was still a stressful experience. Watching my wife go through the physical strain of trying to safely bring a child into the world is nothing to be taken lightly. Especially since there was nothing I could do other than hold her hand and be as encouraging with my words as possible. And sure enough, like the first time, it was a long labor. As the day progressed, the intensity increased.

But having gone through something before sort of eliminates most of the shock value, even if it’s watching your wife give birth. That was me as Sunday turned into Monday. I was ready this time around when the anesthesiologist came in and administered the epidural. And when it was time to push, I knew exactly what I needed to do and where I needed to be to help the nurses out. Our baby girl, Eden, finally arrived at 5:23 p.m., on Dec. 27. That familiar feeling of pride when you first hold your child was back.

As we made our way back home two days later, again, it all came back to me. I knew what I’d be facing once we walked in and settled in as a family of four. As father of a newborn, I knew I’d be on call in the wee hours of the morning to give my wife some relief. Changing diapers and swaddling? Not a problem. I even created a folder on my iPhone for the thousands of pictures I’ll be taking as my daughter goes through her many changes. 

I’m more confident now than I was three years ago. Will things be exactly as they were with Emory? Of course not. But at least I have some idea of what I’m doing.

There’s comfort in knowing that the second time around at fatherhood I’m at least prepared. Prepared to be the best dad I can be for not one, but two now.

It’s been said that the best way to learn a foreign language is to immerse yourself in the culture.

So two months into this fatherhood thing and I’ve fully immersed myself into this really screwed up world called the language of parenting.

Never before in my life have I spent so much damn time talking about poop. Not shit. Because, babies don’t do that. They “poop” or “go poopy.”

Newborns aren’t throwing up or vomiting … they are “spitting up.”

And my daughter doesn’t drool. Well, actually, apparently she does drool because, this is the term we choose to use as a crossover from both worlds. Either way, it’s still gross.

No. It is not fucking cute. It is still gross. No matter how many cute words we apply to excrement, it will always be shit. My baby shat herself last night and it was messy.

But I digress.

Along with the language of parenting comes this entirely new world of marketing to parents. It’s a scary, deceitful business, my friends. You will literally be smacked upside the head with every single marketing tactic in the playbook to try and lure you into this web of spending on utter bullshit.

From diaper wipe warmers to chairs that electronically swing themselves to apps that monitor your child’s bodily functions, there is something for everything and for everyone. For example, I can control the motion of my daughter’s nap chair from my iPhone and toss on some background tunes to the sound of rain while the seat rotates to mask the rhythm of an ocean wave. All while I chill out on the reclining “glider.” Note: It’s not a rocking chair … it’s a glider, because we have to add a crafty little marketing title so we can force you to pay another $200-300. Because, eff you.

In fact, as I write this post, I’m looking across the room at my daughter as she rotates on her MamaRoo chair. The best part? She’s totally not entertained by the actual built-in mobile that hangs over her head while she rocks. She’s more interested in her hands that she recently started to discover.

And that is actually the dirty little secret: the babies don’t know any better and don’t need all of that technology to have a good time.

My in-laws came to visit recently and were stunned at all the gadgets and stuff we have furnished in our teeny-tiny little closet-sized apartment here in Manhattan. Matter of fact, until about a week ago, my daughter hated everything anyway.

We’ve got a specially designed floor mat with a hanging decoration (ugh, “mobile”) and built-in walls that entrap your tot like a felon at Clinton Max. It’s all adorned in colors and cute animals, so you know … it’s not really like a prison. It’s cute. But not at first to my daughter. It might as well have actually been the clink.

Same with that damn MamaRoo. We tried that bad boy on day one from the hospital. It took a daily dedication and vigilance for us to finally get the offspring to enjoy that thing … six weeks later.

Meanwhile a few notes on this contraption: First off – screw that name, because you know, dads apparently don’t give a shit if the baby is chillin’. Second – how someone hasn’t made this thing in an adult version for grown-ass men is a total fail. Imagine watching football while sitting in this rocking chair, errr — glider, on steroids? I’m looking at you, Apple. Make up for the iWatch.

Here’s the big takeaway: avoid the marketing hype. For my first-time fathers out there, you are going to run into a million and one baby books and friends and family members and coworkers and advertisements and social media posts and all sorts of crap in between begging you and pulling at you and imploring you to buy [blank] because “your baby will love it” or because “you NEED this to survive parenting.” False.

Stay strong, my friends.

You do need some very basic things to get by; because how the hell do you think your child will be able to survive without a diaper wipe warmer, bro? (Editor’s note: His two kids did.) But, don’t be that dude that loads up on product after product because it looks shiny. Your kid won’t know the difference. You’ll just clutter up your house. And you could actually probably end up saving money in the long run.

A version of this first appeared on Daddy Mind Tricks.

When your 15-year-old is on spring break with another family for a week, the last click-bait you want to see on your phone is “Tornado Watch from Florida to South Carolina.”

What are the odds, I fretted, as my thumbs speed-texted “U ok? Just heard about tornado watch for sarasota?”

My daughter replied like King Kong casually batting away a helicopter parent: “yeah we r good.”

Despite her nonchalance, shortly after her return home she admitted that my message had, in fact, alerted them to a coming storm, much to her amazement. Begrudgingly, she gave me credit for helping them take shelter as the rain and wind passed. In other words, I had been right.

My moment of sublime triumph, however, did not last long. For I realized that finally, after 18 years of parenting my two daughters and trying not to become my own parents, it was official: I had become my mother. I can explain.

Have you ever seen television news anchors with imperfect hair and no make-up? I hadn’t either until five days after my firstborn’s arrival in Toledo, Ohio, in 2000. My wife and I were sitting on our couch watching a movie while she breastfed the baby. Our finished basement had few windows so we heard little noise from the outside. Midway through the movie, my worrisome mother called from New York. She had just seen on The Weather Channel that Toledo was in the path of a tornado. Because she tended to exaggerate threats and our room was quiet, I didn’t bother to check outside.

Minutes later, a siren penetrated our domestic bliss.

We turned off the movie, checked a television station in this age before cell phones, and saw a shocking image: the local news anchors were struggling to keep their composure as they urged viewers to find safe cover. Immediately! There was a tornado in the area, and one of the anchors actually yelled, “If you’re in a car right now, stop, get out, and jump into a ditch!”

I dashed upstairs. The sky was sea-green, trees were near horizontal, and windows rattled in their frames. (Insert “Holy Toledo!” wherever you see fit.)

I’m not proud of what happened next, but hey, I was a brand new dad

I ran back downstairs, informed my wife, and began brainstorming ways to keep our family safe. After frantically gathering flashlights, candles, and matches, I kept visualizing our brick house raining down on our heads as we stood in a doorway (as the frazzled anchors recommended). So my mind kept thinking “helmet.” All I could find were bicycle helmets, which I brought to the couch as my wife rolled her eyes.

For the record, I must emphasize that at no point did anyone actually put on a helmet.

Regarding the baby, I visualized holding her under my body to shield her from debris, but that was not enough for my addled, panicking brain. It seemed perfectly logical that she would be most protected, if necessary, by lying underneath a turkey pan that I found. Again, an eye roll from my wife, this time more dramatic.

Also for the record, the baby was never actually put under the turkey pan.

Feeling prepared, I sat back down to watch the news. Suddenly our landline rang. I expected my mother again, but it was an old friend calling from Las Vegas. (What are the odds?) He wanted to catch up on a few years’ worth of family doings. I could only issue a tornado-laden excuse and promise to call him back.

Fortunately, the tornado touched down a few blocks away and no one was injured. Our oblivious daughter nursed throughout the evening. While I don’t remember what movie we were watching that night, the tornado experience (and now my daughter’s tornado encore) brought home the wisdom of an old saying: even in adulthood, you should always listen to your mother (or father).

Photo on Foter.com