I don’t think you can legally call yourself a dad until you’ve held your face three inches away from a grocery cart handle and asked, “Who is it?”
Husband and father. Communication specialist by day, freelance writer by night, asleep by later that night.
Fatherhood has a way of nulling the part of your brain that makes you care about yourself, which is why I’m losing my dignity one step at a time.
Despite being the most amazing example of human willpower and strength, Marvel won’t make a movie about stay-at-home moms – and that’s a shame.
The NoseFrida is something I never thought would exist on the open market. The booger straw.
My current getting-ready-for-bed routine is something I never expected – mainly because everything makes so much noise.
Essential oils quickly escalate from “wow, these smell nice” to “I want to spend all our money on these.” Here’s a guide for the one on the other side of the obsession.
Holidays with a baby aren’t that much different. It’s just that I now find myself frequently asking about bows, buffalo plaid and musical elephants.
During cold weather, we dress our baby following one simple rule: there’s no such thing as too many layers.
A new father, bonding with his infant son during meal time, contemplates the milestones ahead in their relationship.
We lit a candle to properly grieve the end of the era when our parenting activities didn’t involve the word “chase.”