My wife loves to point out all the “cute” or “adorable” physical features my son has that resemble me.

Unfortunately, these are the very same physical features I’m extremely self conscious about.

These “compliments” keep rolling in on the daily:

“Oh look baby, he has back hair just like you!”

“Aw how cute, his hair line is just like yours!” For the record: my son looks as if he has male-pattern baldness already!

“Look at his little ears…they have hair on them! You know who else has hairy ears? Daddy!”

“I just love his double chin. That’s your chin, Jentry. So cute.”

Um. No.

Not cute.

Look, it’s no secret…I have no jaw line and at least two chins! I’m more like a neck with ears. Like Beaker from the Muppets. And yes, I’m a little chubby right now. Obviously hairy too. Okay…whatever.

But why does all of his “good” features get attributed to her contribution?!

“His skin is so pretty and smooth. He gets that from me.”

“His eye lashes are so long…just like mine.”

“He’s so stron...

I am easily carrying about 15-20 extra pounds of fat on my body right now. Being “light-footed” isn’t much of an option.

Until now.

I have found myself creeping through my own house on a daily basis. Literally walking on my tip toes, shoulders shrugged and hands raised at chest level. Picture: the cartoon villain with the trench coat and hat that we used to watch as children.

Yeah… that’s me.

“But why, Jentry?” you may be wondering.

Let me explain.

Between my wife and my baby, if I wake either of them… the chances of hearing screaming and/or tears is 100%.

These priceless pockets of rest that they are able to get are like seeing rare double rainbows: they fade away as quickly as they happen.

My poor wife is waking up every two hours and then nursing for an hour. And my son…oh man…he definitely takes after his old man! He’s fussy, grumpy, hates being away from his boobs, over eats…to the point where he can’t move and is very vocal about his opinions. Yeah…the little shit is just...

I’ve been searching for the right descriptive for some time now, to verbalize what I’ve come to learn about nipples.

Female nipples.

Mommy nipples.

Breastfeeding nipples, to be exact.

Um…yeah. There’s a lot going on there.

Originally, I was like “aww…that’s so precious and beautiful” watching this moment between mother and child, during breastfeeding. It’s Life giving, Comfort giving and magical.

Then somewhere recently, that experience shifted. Greatly.

I think it started when my wife asked me to take our son off her lap and pried him off her breast. What I saw was…um… strange??  (See…there’s the adjective I’m searching for again!) Let me put it this way: the first thought that came to my mind was, “hey..!!??…how did you attach a Vienna Sausage to your boob??” And as most of you know me pretty well…the filter between my brain and mouth doesn’t work too well… I asked my wife. Fortunately, she’s cool as hell and started laughing.

“They get that big??!” I was shocked!

Things the...

Discovery: Brand new babies don’t have a sense of humor. Nor do they care to talk about work. This means I’m fucked.

It’s a wild thing to realize that the very foundation of how and what you communicate with (i.e. about work or with humor) doesn’t work on your present audience. And just maybe…that you’re fucking boring!

It’s like being on a blind date with someone that doesn’t speak the same language.

It’s brutal.

You start realizing that you are limited in your expressive self and that a new version of yourself has to come forward in order to make any progress in that relationship. Having a new baby highlights just that.

He grunts, can’t really see, doesn’t talk, can’t eat ice cream, doesn’t drink, isn’t old enough to work, has zero social awareness (I mean really, he farts and burps whenever he wants!) and quite frankly… he sounds a little like a mix of baby Gizmo and Marcel The Shell. It’s adorable as hell…I just don’t know what any of those noises mean… yet!

I think this is w...

Discovery: There will be some people you encounter that you simply don’t even want looking at your baby.

Today we planned a field trip. Cabin fever set in and we both knew we needed to be in fresh air. This of course was the conclusion we came to after I witnessed myself eating a pint of chocolate ice cream while watching The Bachelorette (side note: I’m not sure what the intended genre of that show is supposed to be…but it may be one of the greatest comedies I’ve seen in a long time!)

Any who… the field trip was scheduled to be a 30 minutes/4 block tour of our little beach town: Down To Earth (against my wishes- sorry Jess!- but the wife wanted some almond cookie thing), Target for some new pacifiers and then Anuenue for food and tea!

All is well and on schedule as we made our way to the check out lane at Target. We pass a group of younger girls- sadly 20s are younger to me now- and the “pack leader” practically screams “OMG… That baby is SO cute!!”

I reach for my blade…

Now look...

Natural child birth is NOT something to scoff at or take lightly.

I knew my wife was strong…when we would wrestle, she would over work me to the point I had to “pretend” to let her win.

She won. Hands down.

But I had to play like I let her. It’s always humbling.

I knew my wife was tough… Besides her being half Korean (and anyone who knows Koreans know they are a tough breed of people) she also puts up with my neurotic bullshit and does her best to keep me in check.

But natural childbirth? Man… that was some next-level-type-shit, right there.

I saw some shit, y’all.

Like…it changed me. Forever.

And every day since… She’s feeding, cuddling, smooching, rocking and loving on this little baby, every moment of every day. Let me say that again guys…EVERY MOMENT of EVERY DAY!

I think she’s slept 30 minutes in the past 4 days. I’m drooling on myself and I’m getting a good six hours in! How’s she’s even holding her head up is a mystery to me.

All I’m saying is this: I fell deeper in lo...

New born baby boys get boners…

And now I feel inadequate around my son.

There is something good about diluting certain gene pools… and my specific genetic make-up is a perfect example.

Let me just start by apologizing to my brothers (and possibly even my mother) for this sharing… but we aren’t exactly the image of perfection. Mostly, my relatives and I resemble Peter Griffin in the buff as opposed to the Statue of David.

I’ve seen myself naked recently… not good.

A few weeks ago, one of my employees said to me… “don’t worry, Dad-bods are totally “in” right now!”

What!!?? I have a “Dad-bod”??!! When the fuck did THAT happen?!

Truth be told… I’ve had a Dad-bod since I was 9 years old. Ugh.

My wife on the other hand- totally fit, lean and looks like a 20-something year old. She’s 40 and a total cougar.

True story: she placed at a national bikini-fitness competition in New Zealand; never trained for it, wasn’t planning on stepping foot on stage, was eating a bag of chips when her ...