The Trials and Tribulations of Baby Boot Camp (and the Unfortunate Misplacement of a Very Important Car Seat)

Following the birth of Jack, our new little bundle of joy, Amanda and I were automatically enrolled in the hospital’s rigorous four-day baby boot camp in the maternity ward. It was there, under the watchful gaze and guidance of our hardheaded instructor, Nurse Linda, that we learned what it would take to become parents.

To feed, clean, wipe, dress, wash, swaddle, cuddle, and comfort a little baby at all hours of the day and night.

No stranger to being in charge, Nurse Linda packed our basic training regimen with a variety of cruel and invasive sleep deprivation experiments, parental survival training classes, and a long series of never-ending physical and mental drills that would test us at every turn.

But would we survive? And if so, how? As we would soon find out, having a baby was very serious business.

Very serious business, indeed.

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Cute Cheeks and Tiny Toes: Yep … We Had a Baby

Having a baby is a lot like nothing else in the entire universe. And until the very day that it actually happened, that our tiny little person, with the cute cheeks and tiny little toes, popped out into existence, I’m not so sure I had even the slightest idea what I was in for.

Like all parents completely terrified that they’re going to screw things up, we took baby classes and read books and blogs and even managed to assemble the crib and install the car seat! Surely the more we prepped, the better off we would be. So much so that by the time we officially had to turn in all our free time for a life of constant things to do, we would be a seasoned, well-oiled parenting machine ready to experience the drama free wonder of childbirth.

That’s definitely how it would happen … without a doubt. Right?

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53 Maintenance Requests and Counting: Return of the Poo Sewage

The very first thing I did today upon awakening once again into this beautiful world was to make a wish, from the bottomless and deepest depths of my heart, that our bathroom toilet would begin yet another flabbergasting flooding disaster. When it comes to bathroom flooding, this is not my first rodeo. More like the seventh.

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The Movember Bewhiskering: Another Mustache Sprouts Its Wings

It’s that time of year again folks. The month when millions, perhaps even billions of men around the world start reforesting their upper lips again for 30-whisker-filled days of brotastical unity—all in a giant effort to raise money and awareness for men’s health.

I call it: The Bewhiskering.

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