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the parent trap
buried with children
by mike julianelle

I know, I know. What do I have to complain about?

I’m not the one with a creature growing in my belly, stretching my body, stressing my muscles, assaulting my hormones, eliminating my wardrobe, preventing me from drinking, stopping me from bending over, forcing me to sleep in uncomfortable positions, preventing me from drinking, causing heartburn and indigestion, poking at my skin from the inside, making an already uncomfortable summer even more uncomfortable, preventing me from drinking and so on.

Nope. I'm just the guy that caused all of that (hell yeah!), and I've got it relatively easy.

For the past seven months, I’ve just been sitting here, watching as my wife soldiers through all of the aforementioned growing pains, supporting her as best I can while trying to not be obvious about all the drinking I'm doing behind her back. (I feel like an alcoholic pretending he’s quit – I’ve got bottles of booze stashed around our apartment, I’m whipping flasks out of my socks for quick swigs when she's not looking; it’s crazy.)

The fact is, guys experience pregnancy much differently. For one thing, my version doesn't end with an entire living person exploding out of my penis. It's just not physical for me. So while my wife goes through changes that affect her both inside and out, for me it's purely mental. And I don’t think the fact that I’m having a kid will fully set in until the day he finally arrives.

The inability to accept the idea that I will soon own a child makes the experience rather odd. On one hand, my day-to-day thoughts and activities are dominated by baby preparation. There is so much to consider: where the baby will sleep, what the baby will wear, what kind of crib to get, what kind of stroller to get, what to name the baby, where to put the baby’s cage, what’s the baby’s favorite liquor, how long must I wait before I can show him "The Wire," how can I best defend myself against his inevitable attempt to usurp me as head of household, etc.

On the other hand, I don’t quite have an actual baby, so it’s almost like my wife has just let herself go while simultaneously embarking on a shopping spree for a bunch of incredibly stupid shit. Until I hold the little sucker in my arms, until the sweet smell of my baby's feces dominates my apartment, I won’t be entirely convinced my old lady's not scamming me.

Like Geraldo approaching Al Capone's tomb, I am keeping a record of the event. That's right, I'm tracking my journey from fun-loving, time-wasting, responsibility-skirting, not-a-father to beleaguered, exhausted, disgustingly-sober, covered-in-spit-up, brand-new-father at my new blog!

It's called Dad and Buried and it will serve as a corrective to all the "my baby can do no wrong/being a dad is pure bliss" versions of fatherhood that are out there. I'm taking the air out of all that BS (bullshit), complete with pictures of actual BS (baby shit).

Having a kid will surely be a huge pain in the ass inconvenient and lifestyle debilitating fun in spurts kinda cool a huge financial drain the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but I’m not going to start writing songs comparing the kid to Jesus or anything. I'm not Scott Stapp (remember that a-hole?). I'm going to be as cynical and sarcastic about having a kid as I am about everything else, and that means lots of ranting.

I certainly can’t bitch to my wife about my issues when hers are so much more legitimate and varied and plentiful. I can’t bitch to my friends who already have kids because we no longer speak the same language, and once my kid arrives, my baby-less friends won't understand me. And I can’t bitch to the girls I have cybersex with because learning that the guy you’re masturbating about is having a baby is a real turn off.

I needed a place to vent, so I started the blog.

It will be both a countdown to and a diary of Babygeddon, warts and all. I admit that becoming a father has me almost as elated as it has me terrified, but there are tons of blogs that say a lot about the "elated" part of fatherhood but almost nothing about the rest. Once my baby is born, my blog will chronicle my experiences as a comically unprepared new father, hilariously taking responsibility for the well-being of a miniature human being. I promise it will be either as funny or as sad as "Webster," and with lots more swearing.

Bottom line, I'm not going into this whole father thing quietly. Maybe things will change, but so far about the only silver lining I can find is that I can probably get him to hate Jesus and the Jets as much as I do. Otherwise it looks like nothing but shitty diapers, G-rated movies and accidentally drinking my wife's breast milk in the middle of the night.

My son is coming, and he's bringing hell with him.

Dad And Buried


Let's get real here. You don't want to know about me. You want to know about "me".

more about mike julianelle


office face
keeping yourself to yourself
by mike julianelle
topic: humor
published: 9.11.09

hasta la vista, babies
put your baby in a corner
by mike julianelle
topic: humor
published: 3.21.08


adam kraemer
7.8.10 @ 9:13a

Mike, Mike, Mike. Don't worry, man.
I'm sure there are plenty of women in cyberspace who are just champing at the bit to masturbate to thoughts of Al Bundy.

My brother's wife is days away from having their second daughter (well, we hope it's just days). It's a good thing you're going to be looking at your baby from a totally objective standpoint, since my niece is the cutest kid ever, anyway.

robert melos
7.8.10 @ 11:45p

For a baby name I'd suggest Robert, with a middle name of Alexander. Not that I'm partial or anything, but Robert is a very royal, one might say kingly, name. And of course Alexander the Great was, well, great. Need I say more?

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