You Got the Name: Now What?

Earlier I wrote about choosing a name for your baby. Some commenters noted some aspects of what to do once a name has been chosen that need to be addressed.

Particularly this: after you've (hopefully) followed Daddyfesto's rules and you’ve chosen your baby’s name, the next serious question you’re faced with is whether to tell other people about the name. There are two schools of thought here.

The first school of thought is the “dibs” / “no snakes” school of thought. In this school of thought, baby names are like seats in a crowded college apartment: you gotta call it to reserve it. By announcing the baby name widely and loudly to all of your friends, you put everyone on notice that this is your name and that if anyone stole it for their own baby, the wrath of God (a/k/a the wrath of your pregnant wife) would be unleashed upon them. This school of thought is most likely to be useful if you have a number of friends that are also pregnant, particularly if they are farther along in the pregnancy than you.

But, ultimately, for most people, this way of thinking is probably silly. These days, people choose names for their babies like “Ronan” and “Qdoba” or are spelling names in crazy Irish ways with all kinds of extra vowels. People are getting all trendy with the names. So if you’re choosing a weird one, most of your friends and acquaintances are going to think the name you choose for your kid is fucking retarded. By calling dibs on the name, you’re only announcing that you think that the retarded name you’ve chosen is actually so amazingly cool that people might steal it. So it might actually be better to just keep your head down on this one.

The second school of thought is the “keep it to yourself” school of thought. This school is largely pragmatic. People from this school recognize that, before the baby is born, other people think that they have a right to express their opinion about names. I mean: more people than you realize are willing to say, after you tell them the proposed name, “that’s a stupid-ass name.” The fact that the baby isn’t born yet seems to make people think that they have license to say whatever they want about the name and can be rude. And so then when you name your kid the name anyway, other people feel really stupid and it’s very awkward. And when you get drunk with them, your wife will bring it up.

Living with a few awkward moments with most people would be OK, but, frankly, the primary people that are going to tell you what they honestly think about a planned baby name are your mother and your mother-in-law. And so living with even more awkwardness in that relationship might actually be a problem. The best way to fix this problem is to have your wife create and send the baby announcements prior to the child’s actual birth, instead of after the birth, as is presently the custom:

“Jhohhny Rotten Jablonski is due to be born around November 2, 2007 and is supposed to be 9 pounds or something ridiculously big like that, so labor is going to suck. He better be born by November 3, or I’m cutting myself open and dragging him out and I will also give him less love throughout his first 18 years. Do you hear me Jhohhny? If you don’t like the name, too fucking bad, we aren’t changing it, so start pretending like you like it pronto."

The best thing about this kind of baby announcement is that it is in writing and final, so it doesn't invite comment, and as long as your mother and mother in law receive it, no one else has to. So give those two the announcement, blame it on the wife's pregnancy hormones, maybe call dibs on the name solely to other pregnant moms and zip your lip with everyone else and tell them you’re still on the “M’s” in the baby name book and won’t have a decision until the date prior. Easy as pie.

Keeping the Faith: Politics and Your Child

With the election season upon us and the Ohio primary just a few days away, it’s time to talk about politics and your children. Studies show that the parent’s political leanings strongly influence a child’s politics. But why take the chance that this won’t work for you. Make sure you indoctrinate right to create your little Weepublican or Demoquat.

[ed note: anyone else think that employing a standards board in the silkscreening industry may be in order?]

For fathers of the GOP (and if you’re a father that lives with your kids, you’re probably a father of the GOP), there’s several simple steps you can take:

When you see a homeless man, to prevent children from feeling empathy, say “he used to work around our house, but I fired him for stealing your toys.”

Tell children, “we don’t hate black people, we just hate poor people.” Then say “Isn’t it interesting that lots of black people are poor” and let child draw own conclusions (being non-overt and semi-sneaky is “best practices” subtle racism child will need to master for later in GOP life).

Assure children that they aren’t racist “because we let in a couple of those Orientals and Indian (dot not feather!) kids" in their private schools. "You know, like daddy’s doctor’s daughter and your doctor’s daughter and mommy’s doctor’s son!” Buttress lack of racism in your family by saying “I would make out with her” whenever hot actress of color is on television.

Get children to associate happiness with GOP victory. Each time GOP wins an election, hold pizza party and throw dollars into air for children to scramble for. This teaches children that when Republicans win, that means cash in their own pockets via tax cuts for the rich.

For Democrat fathers there is also a lot to be done. In fact, for a Democrat, the act of just being a parent is in and of itself good at demonstrating to kids your philosophy of government and gets them used to the nanny state.

Make sure to choose childrens’ meals, clothing, toys, books, television shows and playmates through at least Eighth Grade. This demonstrates to children that persons in authority know what’s best.

In Ninth Grade, let children know that you aren’t doing any of that anymore because you respect their individuality. Crying while you say this shows that you care and makes it all OK.

In weekly allowance, include extra quarter, specifically earmarked “for some good bumper stickers.”

Dress child solely in rainbow garb “because activism can start early.”

Teach child about patron saint Al Gore.

An excellent teaching opportunity for fathers of either political party occurs on the simple trip to McDonald’s. If your child gets a standard 4-nugget Happy meal, tell child that you are “Mr. Government” and promptly take one nugget and 25% of the fries for “taxes.” [ed note: If living in New York City, change 25% to 50%] If a Republican, throw fries on ground and stomp on them. Say “See what taxes are good for.” Then eat nugget to model inherent corruption of the bureaucracy.

[ed note: if Huckabee-like advocate of “fair tax” rip off one-quarter of each fry immediately prior to child's individual consumption; stem resulting bloodflow and stitch bite marks personally to demonstrate to child that universal health care is unnecessary]

If a Democrat, explain transfer payment philosophy to child and find old people to give fries and nugget to, but only after explaining in detail health dangers to old people, writing link on napkin to both online resources on nutritional information and providing old person with lawyer's phone number to sue McDonalds after consumption. If in urban area, give fries and nugget to black or latino children, secretly spy on them over booth and tell your child “lets see what people of their culture do with them.” Write a play about it when you get home.

You Are Going to Be Touched (and I Don't Mean Emotionally)

Most men at some point in their lives eventually stop playing backyard football, stop wrestling with their buddies, stop hitting each other on the shoulder, stop cramming six guys into a Chevette or Omni, stop sitting five to a couch. They start leaving a heterosexual seat between them in movie theatres. They are careful not to be a "middleman" when choosing which urinal to piss at. Over a period of years, most guys gradually stop having physical contact with their buddies. Even earlier than that, boys start pushing away their moms and grandmoms and sisters when they try to kiss them, they like to shake hands with their dad instead of hugging them.

By the age of 22 or 23, most guys, if they touch other people, touch them with their hands.

Now, of course, most guys that are 22 or 23 are trying desperately to replace the loss of physical contact that most of their body is experiencing by vastly increasing the amount of physical contact that one particular part of their body is experiencing, with varying degrees of success.

But most guys become creatures that just don’t touch other people all that much.

As a father, this is going to change.

When your wife is pregnant, you are going to have to touch her. And not just more hugs, although that certainly is part of the equation. You will be expected to give her massages, and touch her in weird ways, like rubbing her belly and sometimes just resting your hand on her belly for, like 10 minutes, and waiting for the kid to kick. If your wife bent over and touched your ankle for 10 minutes, that would be really weird. Every once in a while, you'll be touching her belly and you'll realize "hey, I'm touching another person in a very nonchalant way. This is really fucking weird and is creeping me out and I hope my emotions are not showing up on my face right now." So you're touching your wife a lot more, but not in the good ways.

When your kids are born, you are going to be touching them all the fucking time. Even if you’re working outside the home, you’re carrying this kid around for an hour or more a day once you get home. If you’re home it’s a hell of a lot more than that.

Previously you might’ve shaken people’s hands for 2 minutes a day or made out with your wife and did some baby-making for, what, about 14 minutes a week, so that’s another 2 minutes per day. So you’re going from people touching your body 4 minutes a day to, like, 60-120 minutes a day. It’s a lot of extra touching.

And when your kids get older, they are going to be touching you, they are going to be following you around, requiring that you carrying them places, climbing on top of you when you get home and sit in your favorite chair, getting in your bed in the middle of the night and cuddling you up, your limp wussy son is going to be requiring you to hold his hand all the freakin’ time, your daughters are going to affectionately rub your arm and shoulder so much you’re going to start to wonder whether that style of touching is kosher, but telling a 5-year old she's being overly affectionate seems like a drastic overreaction as well.

Lets just say there is going to be way too much touching. You're gonna be sick of it.

And the extra touching doesn’t only include your kids touching you with their bodies! They will touch you with fluids their too! Wiping noses on you and puking on you and pissing on you. You’ll feel so lucky.

You need to practice this shit or you aren’t going to be ready. Borrow a friends’ cat, rub dirt and old food on it and then piss on it and carry the cat around inside your shirt for 24 hours in the same way that 7th graders in sitcom health classes have to carry around eggs to simulate parenthood. At work, make sure to sit touching other people during meetings. Hug everyone you see. Make your wife sit on your lap during dinner.

It's the only way to prep yourself for all the touching.

Buy a Freaking Camera ... and a Videocamera ... and USE THEM MORE THAN YOU WANT TO

This one took some training for me.

I have personally always had a bit of an aversion to the taking of pictures and to cameras in general. Dating back to high school and college, I would walk into my female friends' rooms at home or dorm rooms at school and look upon the 76 pictures of friends in collages and other arrangements covering walls and dressers and always found it all a touch oppressive, all those people freaking looking at me all the time. More fundamentally, it always seemed to me that people took more time arranging people so they could take pictures to remind themselves of how they once were having fun than they actually spent having the actual fun in the first place. And while I took pictures every now and again, I tried to do it sparingly.

Most guys seem to realize that when they have kids, they are undertaking the job of family photographer/videographer. I think this is just another male tactic to be permitted to play with electronics instead of having to delve into the trenchwork of parenting, with its wiping noses and asses. So most guys and smart and take to it quickly.

An idiot minority, however, like me, do not. I figured “These are my kids! I will remember every first that there is with perfect clarity. I will not forget these important moments in my life.”

Do you remember the first time you got drunk? The funniest prank you pulled on a buddy and his pissed off reaction. Do you remember what the hottest girl you ever slept with looked like naked? Do you remember the key plays and where you were when one of your favorite sports teams won it all (well, you know what this feels like unless you are from Cleveland)?

See! Your mind is full of that important stuff. It doesn’t have room to remember what your kid looked like and acted like at age two. And so you’re gonna forget what your kid looked like and acted like at age two.

Do not underestimate the degree to which kids will turn your mind to mush. After a year I was asking my wife things like “Did our daughter used to crawl and not walk?”

So in case you’re part of the small minority of guys like me, get rid of your aversion, buy a camera, buy a videocamera, and then make yourself use them. Take a lot of pictures and movies and join the majority of guys in the gadgethead category. You’ll need them. Someday they’ll be a proxy for the memory that will most certainly leave you.

Actually, Someone Gives a Damn

I write the other day about my inability, and the inability of new fathers, to figure out what is interesting to other people. I suggested that the problem was that you want to talk about your kids, and tell some stories about your kids, but because of your genetic connection to you kids, your buddies think you’re bragging, and not being fathers themselves, they don’t “get it” anyway and don’t relate to your stories.

How to solve this problem?

If the problem is you have a genetic connection to your kids and they don’t, then I guess you should find someone with a genetic connection.

Call your mom.

One unanticipated consequence of having children is how the at-times unstable and shallow relationship that I had with my parents immediately improved in a significant way. I hadn’t had much to talk about with my parents. Statements like “Hey Mom, Straub is this great new beer I just tried last night” would be met with “I drank half a non-alcoholic beer yesterday and I got a buzz!” "Mom, I was talking to this really hot girl last night" also wasn't a popular saying. Oddly, they were not interested in who I was partying with or what bar I went to, and I wasn’t interested in telling them about which classes I skipped and which woman didn’t like me. We had sports, we had other family stuff and I got along reasonably well with my parents. I just didn’t have all that much to talk to them about.

All this changed with kids. Having kids gives us a topic of conversation that we both give a damn about. This is doubly true since no one else wants to talk to me about the kids. All those other things in my old life were things I already discussed with one or two or five different friends/classmates/co-workers and really didn’t want to go over it again with the folks. But on the topic of my children, my parents get first dibs on the latest story of who threw what into the toilet today and who is sick, and who claims to hate pizza, since none of my friends or co-workers gives a good goddamn about that stuff.

Add to the mix the fact that you aren’t leaving the house much anymore; instead of being out three or four nights a week, now you’re out once a week. You’re at home. You’ve got nothing to do. You have little of general interest to talk about with normal-style people. If the kid is real young, you probably aren’t getting enough sleep and aren’t coherent. Under these circumstances, really, your mother is probably the only person that will find you remotely interesting and want to put up with your ramblings.

And also add to the mix that your parents eat this stuff up for another reason. It is practically a cliché, but like most clichés, it became a cliché because it’s true: grandparents love to see their kids struggle with their grandchildren as a delayed form of payback or revenge or what-have-you. “You cried too much as a kid and it drove me crazy, and so now I secretly love the fact that your kid cries too much and drives you crazy.” So when you call, your parents are picking up the phone every time without fail. They don’t want to miss the latest disaster.

This really works for just about anyone. My mother reports that my brother, who hasn’t always had the easiest relationship with my parents, and who previously called around 10 times a year, now has a 7-week old and had made 10 calls home in the last two or three weeks.

Your mom becomes your new best friend, or at least one of them.

Now read the above sentence again and tell me that fatherhood isn’t creepy.

The Mosquito

I just recently heard about the invention -- the Mosquito -- that has swept across Britain and is being used by retailers. It emits a high pitch that older people can't hear, and has the effect of driving teens and young folks away while not impacting oldsters. Apparently some people are trying to ban its use because, gee, subjecting babies and toddlers, who aren't free to leave if their parents aren't willing, to brain-piercing high-pitched noises is thought to be a tad cruel? Y'think?

This is clearly a failure of marketing. By calling it the Mosquito, it just sounds too cruel. No wonder the weak-kneed Euros are trying to ban it in their Buzz Off campaign.

If Daddyfesto had been hired, here's what we would've suggested:

Valentine's Whistle: Kids barging into the bedroom in the middle of the night? Are you sad that your chance at a weekend quickie with your spouse is gone? Use Valentine's Whistle and your kids will be miles away while you fuck like rabbits rekindle that romance!

Yankee Child: Is your child rooting for an evil sports team as a form of adolescent rebellion? No need to tie him up in the back yard any longer, simply flip on Yankee Child whenever he tries to watch his favorite team on television or when he puts on the hated hat (in Britain, this would have been the "Man, U Are Not Rooting For Them" Device ... ok, that one is a definite groaner, but compared to the Mosquito, it is genius)

Daddyfesto could go on, but you get the point.

I mean, what is the world coming to? Jesus, next thing you know they're going to tell us that putting secret GPS tracking devices on our kids or giving them phones and not telling them about the hidden GPS devices in them is wrong or something.

The best is the version (see the Mosquito link above) that can be activated remotely via text message. [ed note: Chris, are you working on that?] Anyone else reminded of this?

Your Newfound Inability to Determine What is Interesting to Other People

One apparent casualty of becoming a father is that you lose your ability to determine what is going to be interesting to childless people and what isn’t. If you start telling stories about your kids too much, your bachelor friends will start bitching about your “fucking kiddie stories” behind your back. And there are some fathers that really do tell shitty kiddie stories.

Indeed, many might say that the existence of this blog in and of itself is a great example of a father’s inability to keep the boring details of his life as a father to himself. (and if you had that thought before reading the last sentence, you can go to hell.)

But sometimes, the stories are actually fucking good. Or at least I think they are. Sometimes I feel like telling my buddies “Dude, don’t stop listening just because it’s about my kids. It might actually be funny shit.” But I feel like the switch turns off as soon as the word “kid” is uttered. And I'm not sure if this is their fault or mine.

For example, at some point in the first two years of your child’s life, there will be a week or so during which they will consume approximately as many calories of food as you do. They will throw back two and a half donuts one morning. They’ll eat 3 slices of a large pizza in one sitting. They’ll suck down a whole can of pop.

During a week like this, the amount of food your kid will eat will be tremendously impressive. Take the pop. When you extrapolate that out, a 20 pounder drinking a can of pop is like a 200 pounder drinking a pair of two liters. Two of them! At age 14 or so, me and several friends actually had a competition to see who could drink a single 2-liter of root beer the fastest; I think I was the fastest, and it took me 40 minutes and I puked within 30 seconds of finishing; it’s a hell of a lot harder than you’d think. When it comes to guy topics, eating large quantities of food is certainly a guy topic. Guys should be into this. But whenever I brag about how much my kids eat, people seem bored (although even I recognized that this was not a story people would be into when my kids were breastfeeding).

Maybe it’s the perceived bragging. When it comes to a lot of fatherstories, there is a certain amount of narcissism inherent in them. No father would talk about themselves in the prideful way that they talk about their kids. I think what us dads generally don’t recognize is how talking about our kids seems to other people to be bragging about ourselves, whereas to us, it seems like we’re complimenting another person. It took me a long time to figure that out.

But knowing that, I thought: “Well if I can’t talk about the cool shit my kids can do, maybe I can talk about the funny or stupid shit that they do.”

So I tried that tack. For example, my four-year old son says the word “girl” as if it rhymed with squirrel: gwirrel. That’s funny shit. If you see a four-year old tossing around the term “gwirrel” with a stone cold straight face, that goes a long way. So I figured that if I tried to explain this, maybe something might get lost in the delivery, but I figured it should still hold up; it should still be funny. So what happens? I go out to lunch with the work dudes and say “Dudes, stop talking about sports and check this shit out. My son says ‘gwirrel’ instead of ‘girl.’ What a fucking retard!” And does anyone laugh? No. Nobody laughed. You can’t fucking win with some people.

OK, so I didn’t really do that, but I went through, in my head, how I might possibly talk about this kind of shit in front of my regular-style childless buddies, and I was just completely at a loss as to how to get this across in a way that might actually cause them to pay attention. It just made stark to me the divide between those with kids and those without.

So unless the stories are just phenomenally good, I’ve concluded that you’re pretty much can’t talk about your kids with your buddies. It just doesn't work.

They just won’t give a damn.

My Son Turns 5 Later This Year

My son turns 5 later this year and I was trying to decide how many kids we should reasonably invite to his birthday party.

17

I guess the answer is 16.

Sometimes the internet is retarded.

To my brother: I'll bet you $5 that you won't be able to resist clicking on the above. Just let me know.

Blog Ratings

Apparently you can have your blog rated. And apparently I use the word "fuck" too much.

I would've expected an R, but an NC-17??? Fucking puritans.

Choosing a Name: Daddyfesto's Nine Rules

There are lots of rules to naming kids. Some are blatantly obvious: family names are good; watch out about using last names as middle names (i.e., make sure the names are such and your kid is such that it can be pulled off); generally, older names that have been around the block are better than newly created ones; spell the name right, goddamn it. These rules are basic and clear. This is simple stuff. You should know these easy ones.

But other rules aren’t so clear. This is a lifelong decision, after all. So here are Daddyfesto’s suggestions for some rules to naming kids:

First, the DISTANCE RULE. Primarily, this means that, you can’t name your kids the name of anyone you or your family is particularly close to geographically, professionally or emotionally. God knows you don’t want your boss to learn that your son has the same name as him; your boss might take it as a sign of affection and start trying to hang out with you during work or, even worse, after work. This rule means no naming the same name as a neighbor, no copying names of any cousin (unless you see them less often than presidential elections occur), no naming your kid the name of a good friend of your other kids, no using a name of a close friend of yours that you’re still in touch with, and of course no using the name of an ex-girlfriend. No one wants to name their daughter the name of someone they’ve had sex with or thought about having sex with.

Second is the DON’T OVERDO THE DISTANCE RULE RULE. Some people say “In kindergarten I knew this girl Joanna Jones who picked her nose and then she moved away after half a year before we got to first grade, so while I like the name Joanna, I hate the association with the nose-picker.” This is overdoing the DISTANCE RULE. You’re going to have some kind of association, conscious or not, with most of the names in the world. You shouldn’t choose a name focusing too much on the coolness of those that have had the name in the past. Choose the name based upon the quality of the name. While saying “Joanna” is going to remind you of that girl for the first 2 weeks, after that the only thing you are going to think of when you say “Joanna” is your kid.

Assigning the name to your kid is ultimately like becoming proficient in a foreign language. In the beginning, you say “Jack” and that translates to “my kid” and that translates into the baby in front of you. Very quickly, however, your brain, when it hears your kid’s name, thinks of your kid. The word “Jack” is immediately associated with the baby. “Jack” IS the baby. You could name your child “Foot” and rhyme it with “toot,” and it would seem completely natural to you after a month or two. The associations you might have with the name will fade. Worry about them a little; don’t worry too much about them.

Third, the DOUBLE SOUND RULE. I have experience with this one personally and can attest that it’s no good. This rule says that the first letter of the first name should not have the same sound as the first letter of the last name. So Ray Ryerson is out. Jon Jackson is a no go. Note that it is the sound that matters; not the letter. So Cindy Sellers is out too.

This is not to be confused with a double letter rule. That rule does not exist. In fact, some of the best names in the world have the same letter, but different sounds: Phil Patterson is a classic. Cindy Cameron works well.

And, of course, lets not forget Sarah Scheid.

Fourth, the MIDDLE NAME RULE. This rule is that you should largely ignore middle names when choosing your child’s name. This rule is most often violated by grandmothers who, when considering a name, will say all three names allowed: “Katherine Katrina Smith” or “William Timothy Black.” The first name, using the middle name, sounds dumb (and would violate the DOUBLE SOUND RULE if it applied to middle names which it does not), but if you say “Katie Smith” it’s a fine upstanding American name. The second name, using the middle name, sounds fine. But when you realize that you named your child “Bill Black,” you may have second thoughts. So when considering a name, make sure you give 98% of the consideration to the first and last names. When you test it and say it out loud, don’t say the middle name. No one else is going to once the kid grows up.

Fifth, the THREE OR FOUR SYLLABLE RULE. Ideally, a name spoken allowed, including first and last names, should be three or four syllables. Four is probably ideal, but three works well enough. Five is passable; probably too lengthy, but maybe necessary if you have longish last name. Six is definitely too long. But two syllables is the real problem (Bill Black again; John Capp; Frank Gunn). This normally isn’t a problem for girls, who have very few one syllable first names to choose from. But this rule means that if your last name is Alexander, you should be looking to pick a first name that has one syllable or your kid is going to spend most of first grade getting his or her name on the top of their papers instead of doing their actual schoolwork.

Sixth, the POPULARITY RULE. This one is simple. Go to the social security website that has all the baby names (type: “social security baby name” into Google if you don’t know what I’m talking about; it’s cool stuff). Look at the 400 names between 21st in popularity and 420th in popularity. That’s what you have to choose from. Anything more popular and when you call your kid’s name on the playground three different heads will turn. Anything less popular and people will think you’re trying to show off. Exceptions can be made for family names, however.

Seventh, the NOT A DOG RULE. This is the rule most violated by men under the age of 30. You are picking names. You decide that “Otto” and “General” are your favorite names. Then your wife screams at you: “It’s a person, not a dog!” And so apparently you’re violating some sort of rule, I guess. At least this is what I was told.

Eighth (courtesy of my friend Chris), the STRIPPER NAME RULE. If you go to a strip club (not that you would do such a thing, but hypothetically speaking), and you get a lap dance, and the stripper whispers her name in your ear, is there a chance your daughter will have the same name? If that’s possible, your daughter has a bad name. So let go of Cinnamon, Angel and Crystal. And, frankly, Tiffany and Amber are more and more suspect. Britney? I think it goes without saying.

Ninth, the PLAYGROUND RULE. This might be the most popularly applied rule. Once you have settled on several names, make your pregnant wife have a glass of wine or two with you (and you should always triple your pregnant wife’s alcohol intake, so as to make her feel like she’s practically drinking nothing) and then attack the name like a vicious 5th grader on the playground. Suddenly, in a flash, Ginas and Richards are no longer a possibility, along with Delores and Mulva.

That’s it. Nine simple rules to naming your kid.

Once your kid is named, who you tell about the proposed name is an entirely different issue.

All of the Good; None of the Bad; Except for That Other Bad

It has been suggested that I may focus a touch too much on the negative aspects of this fatherhood thing. In the (I think joking) words of my sister-who-has-yet-to-have-kids-but-likely-will-soon: “Stop it. You’re scaring the shit out of [my husband.]” So lets talk about some positives.

Being a father is like being a kid again, but instead of being a regular kid, you get to have all of the good parts of being a kid with none of the bad.

As a father you will watch Star Wars movies from beginning to end and you will pay attention so you can explain them, you will make a trip to a store with the sole purpose to purchase candy, you will go to a zoo, you will go to an art museum and leave after 30 minutes because your whole family is sick of it, you will go on a vacation and do absolutely nothing culturally edifying, you will play video games for hours on end, you will read the Hobbit or the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe again, you will dress up in old, musty costumes with silly wigs, you will sprint to stop the Ice Cream Truck as it cruises around your neighborhood, you will hang out at playgrounds and go down slides (and bemoan the absence of the merry-go-rounds and teeter-totters from modern day playgrounds), and, once your kids are seven or eight, you will go to amusement parks and ride on roller coasters, and you will build forts out of afghans and you will wrestle in your living room, and you will play that game where you hit the balloon around the house where no one can hit it twice in a row and it can never touch the ground.

Are you thinking “These things sound ok, but they don’t sound all that great”?? Are you thinking that? That’s because you haven’t realized that you get to be drunk while you do all this crap. And you will resurrect all of the great games you and your siblings or cousins or neighborhood kids used to play like kick the can and tons of others that you aren’t even remembering now but that will spring out of your memory one day and you will explain the games to your kids and they will have no idea what you’re talking about, and you will make popcorn for movies with way too much salt, and when someone farts you will laugh and laugh without irony or sarcasm (children are irony and sarcasm jammers), but with joy and silliness and in a way that you haven’t laughed since you yourself were a child.

As a father, you probably can't expect to (and you probably won't) personally enjoy all these things as much your kids do – these things are not new and fresh to you (although having not done most of them for many years, they’ll be fresher than you think). But you are not reliant on your own personal enjoyment. You get to watch your kids and steal some of their joy and add it to your own.

Combined, that can add up to a lot of joy.

And the downsides of being a child? They don’t exist for you. No one is telling you what to eat, when to go to bed, what to wear, when to take a shower or bath (well, so long as your wife is gone for the weekend). No one is telling you to practice the piano or get off the phone or to change the channel. You have total freedom. And from a child’s perspective, your budget is practically infinite, as you can afford to purchase insane amounts of snack foods and Chuck E. Cheese tokens. You get to play with adult toys: use video cameras to make silly movies, go to a parking lot and swerve your car around, chase people in the back yard with the riding mower if you want. Did I mention that you have alcohol? You have swearing. You can purchase a real live honest-to-god pet based upon nothing more than a whim. You can order pay per view movies! You can have two pops in a single hour. You have it all.

As a father, you have license to, every now and again, swoop in for a period of time and take all that is good and fine about acting like a child and leave all that is bad and restrictive about it behind.

Unfortunately, as a father while you can temporarily become like a kid again without having all that is bad and restrictive about being a kid, you still always have with you all that is bad and restrictive about being an adult shackling you. Bills. In-laws. Actually, let's stop right there before I start getting depressed.

Should I Learn the Baby's Gender Early?

Once my wife was 7 months’ pregnant and had an urge for Taco Bell, like all normal humans do every few weeks. She drove herself to the nearest house of goodness and went inside to dine in. While in the line she poured over her options, concentrating on the menu. A customer in front of her in line said “Hi. do you know what you’re having?” My wife replied “probably two chicken soft tacos.” “No, I mean the baby.” Rim shot! It actually was really fucking funny.

Anyways, it seems that the question that even non-parents know to ask soon-to-be-parents is “Do you know what it is yet?” or “Are you going to learn what it is beforehand?” I like to answer “It will be a baby.” Of course, some people have said I have a tendency to be an asshole. But a lot of people these days say that they are going to wait until the birth to learn the gender of their child. Normally they say "we want to be surprised."

The key thing these “it’s gonna be a surprise” folks forget is that whenever you learn about the gender of your child, it will be a surprise for you. If you’re 5 months pregnant, and you learn the gender of your child, it’s a surprise to you right then. If you wait until the birth, it will be a surprise to you then. You still get one surprise in total. It's not like waiting makes it two surprises.

Do you like your birthday? Do you feel sorry for people with December/holiday birthdays? Why? Because they get all of their presents all at once, right?

That’s what waiting until the end to figure out the gender is like: getting all your surprises at once instead of over time. Trust me, at the birth, there are going to be a ton of surprises, more surprises than you bargained for. You’ll be surprised at how big (or skinny) and how long (or short) your child is, whether your child has hair and what color it is, what your child looks like, which feature is more smooshed from coming out of the "birth canal." (what a lovely name that is). You’ll be surprised by the size of object that can escape your wife. About a week after the baby is born, and it’s crying, you’ll be completely surprised at how much you wish you hadn’t slept with your wife 9 months earlier. If the baby is a different race than you and your wife, you're going to be really really surprised.

So why not spread out the surprises a bit more? Why not learn the gender at five or six months and save those other surprises for the birth?

[And, anyway, the rest of us just want a few months’ time to buy the baby present instead of having to rush around and get it with only a few days' notice]