I’m going to be a Daddy.
And a Mommy.
And if you think that’s confusing, guess how I feel? The short explanation goes something like this . . . my wife is 7 months pregnant and I don’t have a job. Haven’t had one in awhile. Don’t have many prospects on the horizon.
So, naturally, I figured I should start a blog.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Hey, that’s great your wife is pregnant. But why don’t you just post this crap on Facebook like everybody else?”
Because I hate Facebook. And because the thing about Facebook is: everyone knows who you are. Like your actual name. And if I’m going to be honest about how it feels to be Mr. Mom – like truly, genuinely, “That dress makes you look fat” or “I’m never going to be good enough” honest – then there’s no way I want my relatives reading this.
I have to eat Thanksgiving with those people.
So sit back and enjoy the bloodletting. This next year, my wife’s going to bring home the bacon. And I’m going to bring up the baby. And do the dishes. And fold the laundry. And take out the garbage. And clean the cat box. And shop for groceries. And have supper ready. And assemble the crib. And paint the nursery. And rock a screaming baby to sleep at 3 o’clock in the morning. And, on certain nights, stare up in to the city-bleached sky and wonder if this is part of the journey or the destination itself. Or both.
Should be fun.
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