None of the men in my wife’s family ever changed a diaper. Not one. Not ever.
Little scientists my ass! Left alone for a few minutes and they managed to do this.
I unload Amelia from her car seat, gather her snack and water cups, and zip them away in the diaper bag. I place her sunglasses on her face and ask, “Who’s ready for a fun day at the zoo?”
In a moment of temporary insanity, Mommy took me shopping even though she had forgotten the entrapment device… er, I mean stroller… at home. My sister was at preschool. How hard could it be to run errands with one child?
Molly wants to swing, so I pick her up and thread her legs through the vinyl harness. I shove her off, and she wheee’s, yawing to one side. It’s higher than I push her with other parents around. But we have the park to ourselves, for now.
If you’re the type of person whose eye twitches when someone bookmarks a page by folding the corner, let your spouse be the one to read to the baby.
Apparently my five year old daughter told her kindergarten teacher that if she ever gets married she’s going to walk down the aisle to AC/DC’s “Hells Bells.”
Most men will not read this. Men don’t want to read about other men’s parenting experiences.