Judging by the little amount of advertising aimed at dads by package goods companies, they must think we don’t do shinola. Yet companies like Pampers have commissioned research indicating that nearly 70% of fathers change as many diapers as moms (when both are present).

According to this NYT piece, companies are just now (warily) starting to market to us and recognize our contributions in the household. For crying out loud, I was asking strangers where the “nipple cream” was the other day at Whole Foods and Babies R Us. I thought for sure people would think I’m the “creepy guy” asking them this, but they smiled, knowing I was on a mission of mercy. And that kind of positive reinforcement goes a long way.

Seriously, in this day and age, what kind of a-hole dad/partner doesn’t go out and buy diapers (or at least go to diapers.com)? It’s not as though we’re living in the Magnum P.I. ages where men were mustachioed and didn’t even think about doing such menial chores. For the sake of argument, say you were a 20% effort dad: you’d at least be buying diapers and not necessarily changing them. Which would mean we’d be advertised to. Apparently not.

I’m writing this post at 4am, in part because I’m supporting my wife who’s just starting to get the hang of breast feeding. She says it’s a massive help that I’m just awake with her. To give her moral support. To time how long the kid has fed on each breast. To mark it down in the log. And that kind of appreciation is great to hear—especially since I can’t actually bear any of the burden of feeding this child.

So it’s pretty obvious an article like that one would get my ire up. Especially with all the stuff we do to help out around the modern house. But the question remains: why on earth would I want advertisers to target me with endless, crummy ads? Good question. Maybe, just maybe, I want the recognition.

It’s the time-worn complaint that almost always begins with an audible groan, “My In-Laws are visiting.” But for me, for right now, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My mother-in-law has been staying with us for the past several days and will be here until the middle of next week. Why is this a good thing? Because we have an infant on our hands. An infant who sleeps all day, but refuses to at night. My mother-in-law has been instrumental in helping us keep our sanity—as opposed to losing it.

She has been keeping the kitchen spotless, ordering take-out food, going to the grocery store. And while those things are helpful, the most touching thing was how she took the baby the other night after a 12am—4am run of him crying inconsolably. She grabbed the little guy and had a mini-sleepover for a few hours in the other room just so we could get some much needed rest. And that really is priceless.

Here’s to those unsung grandmother/father heroes.

by contributor Matt Winkler

You hear that cliché from empty nester parents: “Enjoy it while it lasts. You blink, and they’re all grown up.” I always nodded politely, immune to that time warp. “My kids are growing up at one minute per minute,” I thought.

Last week my daughter went to her senior prom. Over the following days, I realized how frequently in her life I had referred to that event in the future tense. On the day she was born, I went to sleep a non-conformist and woke up a traditionalist—at least in the matters of her safety and virtue. Her birth activated something in my chest, a vestigial organ in male homo sapiens (some kind of force field generator) which began to project a Green Lantern-like protective field around her. Her inevitable first date and senior prom became symbolic targets for my overprotective anxieties. She had her first crush in grade school, and my wife thought it was “so cute!” Puppy love is adorable, but…unnerving. As she grew older and so did the boys gravitating toward her, I made no secret of my old-school expectations, dropping terms like “ten o’clock,” “twelve gauge,” and “wrath of God.”

My posturing was always half-joking and half embarrassingly primitive. I’ll gamble that every father of a daughter finds himself (at least psychologically) positioned between her and any admirer. I feel like I spent five years bracing for a crisis, some dreaded moment of intervention in teenage romance gone awry. It never happened. As I sent her off to her “Senior Dinner-Dance,” unescorted, with a select few (and mainly positive) relationships in her past, I realized this would be my last night of waiting up for her while broadcasting my paternal dominion into the evening. She’s eighteen now and off to college in the fall, where she’ll be looking out for herself. The unsettling scenarios of her adolescent love life, both actual and (thankfully) never manifested, have moved from the future into the past. That’s one time warp I didn’t see coming.

As the editor of this fine band of fathers, I’m happy to officially become one of them.

I’m proud as hell to announce the birth of my son, Soren Charles Beeby. Born on Father’s Day.

So, did you earn your “World’s Greatest Dad” mug this Father’s Day? Or will your kids begrudgingly celebrate this holiday out of obligation?

I asked a broad sampling of dads (for whom I have email addresses) to tell me what they thought of Father’s Day. Do they have fond memories of it? How do they want to celebrate it? Or don’t they care?

Here’s what I got in response:

• “My dad died 3 days after fathers day, so it’s always been sad. But this year, I’m a Dad of a newborn, so it’s going to be awesome!” —Joe B.
• “I hope my sons like golf, because I love to watch the U.S. Open on Father’s Day Sunday. I would also be nice to play a match with them when they get older. If they don’t, they better like diners.  Breakfast at home is nice, but going out to a diner for some pancakes and bottomless cup of coffee would be a nice Father’s Day for me.” —Bill K.
• “Father’s Day tends to be less a celebration of fatherhood than a triumph of commercialism. The National Retail Federation projects that Americans will spend $9.8 billion on Father’s Day this year. To put that in perspective, that’s more than enough to assure a primary education for every child on the planet who is not getting one right now.” —Nicholas D. Kristof (I don’t have his email address, it’s from his op-ed in the NYTimes)
• “Father’s Day (like every other Hallmark Holiday) deserves as much scorn as we can heap on it! I’d much rather celebrate “Random Tuesday: 7:30 a.m.” when mom, dad, and baby cuddle up on the bed in the morning sunlight. Down with Father’s Day! Give me back my regular-old-Sunday!” — Dan B.
• “Father’s Day is that one time of year where I can sit on the couch, watch sports and tell one of the kids to get me something (beer). When they resist, I can pull out the “but it’s Father’s Day” card, to get them to do it. I know I shouldn’t, but there are lots of things I shouldn’t do.” —Joe M.
• “We’re decidedly agnostic about holidays contrived by greeting card companies. That said, this year Dad’s Day coincides with my wife’s birthday, so we’ll probably all spend a family day hiking up a mountain, followed by ice cream cones. (FYI: I require all gifts and/or cards to be handmade by the giver. I don’t like being another excuse in the consumer obligation -> “thank you!” -> landfill cycle.)” —Matt W.

What do you think about Father’s Day? Comment and we’ll add it into the post.

I sh*t you not. There is such a thing as the “Pillow Tie.”

What an amazing improvement on the typical, crummy tie for Father’s Day. For worn-out dads who want to look sharp and be able to snooze anytime, anywhere.

I actually like their site copy, “Because most functions that require a necktie deserve to be slept through.”

pillowtie.com

Dear Fathers of (Pre) Teen Girls,

How do you deal with “Juicy” sweatpants?

My child isn’t even born yet (due date was yesterday), and we don’t even know the gender. But that still doesn’t stop me from worrying about what to do when the inevitable occurs: my daughter wanting to go out in public wearing these horrifying sweatpants.

There is something so wrong, so porno about this product that I can’t imagine anyone being so deplorable as to take a profit from their sales.

Should my daughter ever want to wear these out of the house (at any age), I’m going to have to resort to the “sheer embarrassment” tactic. This is going to sound a little sick, but I’ll say, “Get your juicy butt over here and sit on your dad’s lap. You think that’s creepy? It’s nothing compared to the creepy way guys are gonna give you.”

Or, I’ll pull the “double-embarrassment” trick. By wearing my own pair of pink, juicy sweatpants and dropping my daughter off at her destination in person. That should convince her never to wear them again.

So dads, how do you cope with questionable (i.e., overly juicy) wardrobe choices your daughters make?

Sincerely,

The Band of Fathers

by contributor Dan Beeby

Princeton University defines a cyclist as “someone who rides a bicycle.” I ride a bicycle. A lot. I’ve done so in a semi-serious way for 25 years and I commute a dozen miles per day in New York City. So, it’s no wonder that I have a strong desire to imbue a sense of cyclophilia in my young daughter.

My mother-in-law knows this and in that spirit she gifted my (then six-month-old) daughter a CoPilot Taxi  bike seat, which I immediately installed on my beater bike. Then I waited (and waited) until the baby was one year old to take her for a spin.

Now for a disclaimer: young infants should not be taken on bike rides. Common sense. New York State and the U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission dictate against it. But if your greater-than-one-year-old has good neck strength and a need for speed, get yourself a CoPilot, a very small helmet, and hit the road.

In my neighborhood, the CoPilot Taxi is ubiquitous. You’ll see one mounted on the back of nearly every other bike and for good reason: it’s well built, solid, and easy to use. I’ve been tempted by the iBert and Weeride seats (which mount on the bike’s top tube, are smaller, and might provide a more realistic riding experience for the child) but the “tandem” riding position of the CoPilot is more comfortable and strikes me as being safer.

The seat is relatively easy to mount on the included Blackburn EX-1 rack (which serves double-duty as a regular old bike rack when the CoPilot is not on the bike). However, the design suffers from some over-engineering: it has no fewer than three redundant safety latches. First, the “nose” of the seat is designed to click under the front rail EX-1. Second, there’s a heavy duty nylon strap/buckle that wraps around the seat post. Third, the seat has a “tongue” on the rear base that locks behind the back of the rack. And finally there’s a small locking pin to ensure that the tongue doesn’t (somehow) pop loose. It’s difficult to “opt out” of any of these (which is a testament to its thorough design), but it seems that one or the other could have been left on the drawing board.

The bike has three additional systems to hold baby in the seat. There’s a locking lap bar (which is a fun plaything for her to swing up and down while you’re trying to strap her in…it’s also a good place to pinch little fingers). In addition, a three point harness comes over the shoulders and snaps between the legs (be sure to secure this before attempting to clasp the helmet to her head, which I found to be the most challenging task by far). Finally there are leg straps—I haven’t had to use these, but my passenger isn’t prone to kicking.

Dismounting the seat can be a bit tricky. I’ve found it best to unstrap it, unlock the “tongue” pin and push down the “nose” as you punch the base of the seat backwards. Then lift the “tongue” and slide the seat back on the rails until it’s free. Another piece of advice: if you have more than one bike pick up another EX-1 rack at your local bike store or Nashbar for around $40.

The ride performance suffers a bit when you’ve got 25 pounds of baby sitting over the rear wheel. The steering becomes lighter and the back end tends to swish around more. Standing on the pedals into a hill is not recommended unless you like weaving side-to-side. As with any bike configuration, though, you quickly become used to it and your “co-pilot” does, too.

Until I can afford one of these for my Brompton foldable bike, I’ll gladly continue to pedal around with the CoPilot.

Steer Clear or Revere?  REVERE

Pros:

• Well-made
• Ubiquitous (read: cheap — I’ve seen them with rack for $60 on Craigslist)
• Safe

Cons:

• Child is out of view
• Added weight over rear wheel

PS – click for a video of my copilot daughter singing through Prospect Park

The internets are all atwitter about Post-Partum Derpression for men (for our purposes PPDM). Articles have been popping up the last few weeks on The Wall Street Journal, boston.com, and abcnews, all reacting to recent study from the Eastern Virginia Medical School (and reported in JAMA). But a simple internet search will tell you that this is nothing new. It was reported back in ‘09 and ‘08 and so on. My mother-in-law brought the WSJ piece to my attention, worried that I may soon become a candidate.

There’s even a website dedicated to PPDM: PostpartumMen.com. Such a serious site that they call the condition “the baby blues.” Not cute.

While I don’t doubt that PPDM is real, I do wonder if whether it’s just another way to “categorize” typical male depression. Meaning, the men who are suffering from PPDM most likely had bouts of depression well before kids came into the picture. So is this remarkably different now that little Jimmy’s running around the house?

What are your thoughts on PPDM? Do you know someone who’s had it? Is it different from ‘regular’ depression?

From an article in the NYTimes last week, comes the news that more and more people are delaying the “major milestones” in their lives.

The median age for a first marriage was 23 in 1980; now it is 27 for men and 26 for women, the highest on record.

Lots of us are getting married later in life. Myself, at the ripe old age of 34 (I can’t imagine getting married any earlier). And these days starting a family at age 37 is no longer a head-turner. Even though my wife is considered by the health care industry to be of “advanced maternal age,” it’s becoming routine that women are having children well into their 40s. Will that make us the totally crotchety couple at our kid’s high school graduation (with questions of “Whose grandparents are those?” emanating from the graduates)? You’re damn right it will.

The “extended adolescence” article goes on to point out that parents are spending more on their adult children in than they did during the course of their kids’ upbringing:

Adults between 18 and 34 received an average of $38,000 in cash and two years’ worth of full-time labor from their parents, or about 10 percent of their income, according to the MacArthur network.

I think all this is made possible by the fact that the Baby Boomers are the most fiscally-blessed generation in history. These are the people who not only rode the rocket of the ’80s and ’90s economy, but are also receiving a long list of benefits you and I might never see: pensions, Social Security, and Medicare.

Put simply, Baby Boomers are enabling the extended adolescence of their children because they can afford to. (And for the kid’s part, “living at home” in your 20s means something altogether different when your parents own multiple homes as many Boomers do.) One look at the legions of “Trustafarians” in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and you can see how much mom and dad are footing the bill.

However, our generation has had (and will continue) to make due with much less, especially when programs like Social Security and Medicare go broke(r). Our children will have no choice but to grow up, get married, and have children at younger ages.

Why? Because they’ll get kicked out of the g-d house when they turn 21.