Debugging the Pod: Why a Baby Orca is the Best Parenting Blueprint
I'm sitting in the dark at 3:14 AM, watching a nature documentary on mute while my 11-month-old attempts to gnaw off my left collarbone. He's wide awake, absolutely vibrating with energy, while I'm mentally calculating how many minutes of REM...
The Truth About Baby Overalls (And Why I Was Totally Wrong)
It was October 2017, and I was standing in the microscopic, dimly lit bathroom of a neighborhood cafΓ© wearing a silk blouse I had absolutely no business wearing as a new mother, staring down at my six-month-old daughter Maya who...
Debugging My Yard: Surviving the Juvenile Copperhead Panic
I was standing completely frozen in the wet grass holding a plastic watering can like it was a broadsword, staring intensely at a patch of overgrown clover. My smartwatch was aggressively buzzing on my wrist, alerting me that my heart...
The unvarnished truth about baby coloring pages and eating wax
We were sitting in a rather nice gastropub in Highbury when Florence, who was exactly eleven months and four days old, locked eyes with me and bit the top half off a complimentary red pub crayon. She chewed it with...
The Great Baby Changing Station Lie: A Dad's Guide To Diapers
Iβm holding a wipe in my teeth, my left forearm is pinning a kicking 11-month-old to a foam pad, and Iβm desperately trying to unfold a clean diaper with two fingers. The biggest myth they sell you at the shower...
Debugging Baby Shower Messages: A Clueless Dad's Before and After
It's 11:14 PM, the nursery thermostat is locked exactly at 69.5 degrees because my wife insists that's the good sleep environment, and I'm staring at a blank piece of cardstock. The baby monitor on my desk looks like a paranormal...
How We Survived Baby Blues Luncheonette With An 11-Month-Old
We're standing on an uneven patch of Brooklyn concrete at 10:34 AM, and I'm sweating through my flannel shirt while trying to pretend I belong here. Inside the massive glass window, a guy in a vintage beanie is slowly, methodically...
Yellowstone Panic, Iron Deficiencies, And Cooking A Baby Bison
I'm sweating entirely through my gray t-shirt. The ergonomic carrier is digging a trench into my left shoulder blade. My 11-month-old son is happily attempting to rip my nose off my face, completely oblivious to the threat matrix unfolding exactly...
Why Your Outdoor Baby Bee Sting Panic Is Statistically Flawed
We were sitting on a patch of semi-dry grass at Laurelhurst Park, and I was holding a lukewarm pouch of what the label optimistically called baby beef and sweet potato puree. My 11-month-old son was violently refusing the spoon, slapping...