Hey friends! I’m back! WE’RE back!
Since you last tuned in, I’ve been owning this whole dad thing for more than 145 weeks, Like a Boss. Like a dad-boss. Like a Diddy-boss. B-Diddy. Truthfully though, in the Super-Parenting Duo, I’m more of the sidekick, while my wife, Sue, (like all mothers) is the real hero. If she’s the Batman of parenting, I’m the Robin. That’s right. I wear green underwear and make obvious statements: “Holy Spit Bubbles Batman! How are we going to clean up that goop?”. And nine times out of ten, Batman rolls her eyes, whips out a cloth from her utility belt and wipes up the mess before I can make my next inane observation.
So in case you haven’t figured out why this blog is up and running (again), we’re expecting our second child in mid September (Woot Woot!). But I have to admit, there was something peculiar about this pregnancy. I know this is going to sound weird, but this pregnancy felt… well… fast. Seriously, did any of you “second timers” experience warp speed pregnancy too? It was like we went to bed on a Wednesday, celebrating the pregnancy test results, and then woke up on Thursday with the third trimester in full bloom. “Um, excuse me, but did we skip a few chapters?” It’s like when somebody sits on the DVD remote control and accidentally presses the “skip forward” button a few times with their butt cheek. No? Never happen to you? Me neither.
Think back to the first pregnancy. Everything was special. You both came home from work and stood in front of the mirror, admiring the belly. You spent hours singing and talking to the baby. You read up on every little detail about the baby’s development. Every two weeks, you took a selfie and posted it on Facebook with some witty comment. It was romantic.
Now, the second time comes around. Pretty different scene. That’s because you’ve got this thing going on called Toddler Time. Wake up? Toddler Time. Home after work? Toddler Time. Relaxing evening? Nope, guess again. It’s Toddler Time. All your time and energy is zapped by getting your toddler to eat his brocolli and teaching him that pooping his underwear is not what big boys do (until you hit a certain age as a man, and then you realize that it is in fact, something that big boys do). Nearly every time is Toddler Time. And before you know it, you’re staring at protruding belly with a clock ticking down “three weeks to go”. Like I said: pregnant on Wednesday, full term on Thursday.
“Holy Fetus Batman! That belly snuck up on us out of nowhere!”
Hey! Check out the original My First 52 Weeks as a Dad posts (all re-posted on this site). You’ll notice that I started with “My First 30 Days as a Dad”, but found it therapeutic (and addictive), so decided to continue it for 52 weeks.