The Blogfathers

My two year old son, Maxfield, is fascinated with Thomas the Tank Engine and His Friends. We have a small collection of the various trains, which includes Thomas, Henry, Emily and a few others. My brother was nice enough, depending on your point of view, to send me all of the Thomas videotapes his kids no longer were using.

On occasion my son requests to watch these videos. At first the stories and visuals were entertaining. Actually watching my son get excited over the shows was what was entertaining. I would get so wrapped up in watching Max that I did not really pay attention to the shows themselves. Since we limit Max’s TV time and Elmo and Dora and Jack’s Big Music Show get some decent play, it has been a while since we have watched Thomas. But it seems now Thomas and his friends are back into the rotation and I have viewed these tapes with a new perspective.

Thomas’ friends are dicks.

Every 5-10 minute segment, one of the trains has a scowl on their face and is complaining about their work. Or they are jealous of the other trains. Or they are boasting about how they are the best. Or worried that their paint is not shiny enough. Or they are making fun of or picking on another train.  Or they have some type of issue that can only be settled by Sir Topham Hatt. They just have a negative vibe.

Now I know these stories probably teach some type of moral, but me, as an adult, I don’t see it. And it makes me wonder if my son can pick up on the moral. I doubt it. I know that in life, real people, family and friends can and will act like the characters from Thomas. Maybe the show is aimed at teaching kids that they just have to deal with the fact that people can be jerks.

Are you familiar with Thomas? Maybe I just don’t like Alec Baldwin, who narrates most of the episodes, and I am overreacting. What’s your take on Thomas?

When was it that you realized the things you do are being held accountable by more individuals than just yourself? There are some titles we earn and some we inherit. One of those that is thrust upon us when we become parents is role model.

I wish I could say that I was the most honest, most truthful or the most respectable guy. There are times I really am a good person. I hold the elevator for people. Many times on the Metro, I’ll give up my seat. Plus I’m fantastic at writing checks to tax-deductible charities. I even go to church every Sunday.

But I also have not-so-legally downloaded one or two… okay a few…all right…some music from the Internet. On eBay, I buy cologne from a vendor that is selling “tester bottles.” If the store clerk has been especially nasty, I might not correct them if they give me back more change than I should have received. I can also talk (and blog) behind people’s backs.

Lead by example; that’s what we’ve all been taught. While I may be a leader of people at times, I’m now a leader of him all the time. He watches me and learns from me. I’m the person he most wants to be like…at least during his first 10 years. It’s hard not to reevaluate that responsibility when you are helping guide a little one through life.

Ethics are tough and in constant assessment. What might have slipped through then, doesn’t now. Sure we’ve cleaned up our language. We’ve gone through the “please” and “thank you” reminders so that they have become habit for all three of us. He knows that all babies and animals need special care because they are smaller than us.

But have I changed the stuff that really counts? Stealing happens in many forms from something as simple as slipping personal letters into the mail bin at work or taking paper for the home printer. It’s easy to fudge an extra taxi receipt if I was dropped off at the airport. Where does that line blur between common practice and just plain wrong?

Is the message of “getting something for free” more powerful than the one of “do unto others?” I think it is. I think it’s one that I could definitely live better.

How or what have you changed since there is someone little watching?

Baseball practice. Soccer Practice. Piano recital. Boy Scout meeting. Kaplan tutoring. School play. Dance class. Karate class. Oh, and maybe some homework. Dinner? Not enough time. Family time? What’s that?

Nowadays parents are apt to schedule everything under the sun for their kids. It’s done with the best intentions, of course. Sports teach teamwork, the arts teach abstract thinking, taikwondo teaches how to kick that bully’s ass. But with all the things we sign our kids up for, what are we teaching them when it comes to the value of family time?

Of course, we tell ourselves that this is really for the best. Nevermind the fact that Junior hates playing baseball and that little Sally cannot play chopsticks to save her life. It’s good for them. It builds character. And as we schedule our kids from 6:00 a.m. until bedtime (and for teens, bedtime is later now than it ever has been) we feel supported by the fact that this will all translate into a good pre-school/montessori school/prep-school/college. They’ll have the inside track towards the American Dream (which is apparently owning a very large house that you never spend time in).

Well, if you’re still with me (and some of you might not have had time to read this since basketball practice starts in 10 minutes) I have some good news. People are starting to fight back. The city of Poway, California, for example, is fighting back this very day. The City Leaders of Poway have called for a Family Focus Night tonight. They have asked schools, sports leagues, dance studios and the like, to not schedule anything between the hours of 5:00 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. This will be a chance for families to dine together and be together as one without rushing off to the next scheduled appointment.

Hallelujah! This is the four hour block the city of Poway has made. Let us rejoice and be glad. Of course, one wonders what they will actually talk about if they haven’t sat down in the same room in over a year. I imagine the conversation will revolve around how to schedule all the make-up practices/games/homework that will have to be addressed in the coming week.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take the kids to their pig latin sign language class. But what do you think? Are we over-scheduling our kids or are we preparing them for the “real” world where multi-tasking is the norm? Discuss.

How many times do we impulsively buy something at the store? The display looks great and we know that we totally don’t need it. But it ends up in the cart and we take it home only to lament hours later that the money could have been better spent on something else.

I had the reverse happen this weekend. Every Saturday we somehow end up at Target. It’s an easy store to do one-stop shopping, plus the boy can run around and not get too far away. Target is one of those stores that does a lot of wallet-damage for us. We never leave without dropping $50 or more on things we really don’t need. This time however, the item I most desired, escaped me.

Our son inherits a ton of clothes from his cousin who is about nine months older than him. Most are in great condition, so rarely do we need more outfits. That doesn’t seem to stop these two dads every time we pass through the kid’s clothing section. We just believe it never hurts to get a new shirt or pair of slacks.

Dad #2 was over in the swimwear section salivating over this ’shark attack’ theme shirt & trunks combo. The kid has three swim trunks already, but I had to admit, this was a cute set. Into the cart it went. When all of sudden my eyes caught hold something on the other side the boys section.

You know those moments when your mind grabs hold of something before your brain can process it? Almost like a sixth sense, you instantly react and then marvel at your near-superhuman powers of response. I saw the shirt my boy must own.

You could have mistaken me for Jackie Joyner Kersee (except for being a gay white male, about 5’9, and missing the dreads and long finger nails.) as I ran near double speed to grab the only XXS shirt they had left. In my mind, it was a foot race between me and… Actually no one else was near, but AC/DC totally seemed like a reason to knock over the display of ½ price pajamas.

What better way to set up my young child to become respected among his peers? To be the envy of his friends. And for me to be known as the ultimate bitchin’ dad who lets his son wear this outfit to … well … room 4 of Creative Playland. Trust me, there will be envy there. Angus Young, totally kicking my Pretty Pony’s hindquarters.

I held up the shirt high to show my partner like a beer bong at a fraternity party. The ultimate sign of manhood dangling from a plastic hanger. My other hand shot up in the air with the index finger and pinky extended as I shouted across menswear, “Rock ON, my little man.”

And he laughed; my partner just laughed. Years of heavy metal pride seeped from my pours in anguish. After all, I camped out for two days to get Telsa/Poison tickets in Cincinnati. What better way to pass on a legacy to my son then with 80’s metal?

I pleaded for the shirt. “Please, let me, I mean him get it. He really wants it. He looks good in black. He looks good in … ‘Back in Black’.” Instinctively, I reached for my air guitar and hit the most amazing C chord. You should have heard it. MAGIC!

And that was when I lost my case. Dad #2 looked over and said, “No way am I having two little boys in my house singing Skid Road.”

(UGH. Skid Row you lame duck.)

So we went home. My (ARGH), I mean his AC/DC shirt left hanging there for some undeserving child to pick up and wear while finger painting. No art of the Brian Young screeches being passed down from generation to generation. Instead, we have ‘shark attack’ swim trunks. Yippee!

We checked in with his moms this morning and I forewarned them of the sad state they might encounter with our son. His depression would most likely have to be monitored for the next few weeks. I told them I would begin putting money away for future therapy.

And Mom #1’s response to all of this. “We have three AC/DC CD’s at home and play Dirty Deeds all the time.”

WE SALUTE YOU!

If you remember, Lionel Tate was the 12 year old boy that stomped and beat to death his 6 year old playmate Tiffany Eunick.  His defense at the time of that crime was that he was playing out some wrestling moves he had seen on television.  The Florida Judge, after Tate was convicted, sentenced this 12 year old boy to life in prison.  He was the youngest person to be given the life sentence.

In January 2004, Tate’s sentence was overturned and he then accepted a plea to a lesser charge and was put on 10 years probation.  He violated that probation was was then put on a zero tolerance probation. 

In May 2005, Tate was arrested for robbery and assault charges related to an incident involving a pizza delivery.  He accepted a plea bargain in that charge, and has now been sentenced to 30 years in prison for possession of the gun used in the robbery.

Lionel Tate’s mother is a Florida State Trooper, so I can only assume that Lionel was raised to respect the law, although his mother may not have been the best influence.  He knows or should have known what happens when you break the law.  So what happened to Lionel Tate?  Was he a victim of circumstances beyond his control?  What is it in this boy’s life that triggered his behavior that has landed him in prison? 

I don’t know much about Lionel Tate, and I don’t pass judgment on him.  Apparently, he has had some issues of abuse at the hands of his mother, but I wonder through all of this if Lionel would be on the same path if he had a Father?  The news and information available mention his mother on numerous occassions, but what I don’t see is a Father. I don’t mean to spark debate about single mothers raising children or issues of race or poverty, but as a Father my heart breaks for the fact that this young man had no guidance of a role model.  The only role models he had were the men he saw on television, and we know how that turned out.  Would Lionel Tate’s life be different if his Father was present?

ZOIKS!

Those of you with children that watch cable television know exactly the character that says this word.  My son has been quoting television shows now as often as I quote Monty Python or Caddy Shack.  It drives my wife crazy when my brother and I get together and start into our inside jokes about drinking more Ovaltine and other gems from our past.

It made me begin to think whether my son is watching too much television.  Good parents would be the first to say that I am turning him into a mind numbing zombie that will acquire ADD and end up in a clocktower with a rifle.  I’m not saying that I’m a bad parent but my son really enjoys watching his cartoons.  He sits quietly, he is not beating on his siblings, knocking over piles of laundry, or coloring on something he should not be with that indelible marker.  I know, you are now thinking that I’m using that as an excuse and instead of doing something more educational I’m letting that box of evil shape the future of my child.  Don’t think that I have not also accused myself of this, in fact I have agonized over it for some time now.  What amount of videos and television is too much?  How many hours a week is the threshold for good parenting versus bad parenting?  Certainly there is a chart I can read that acts as a guide for these answers.  Not exactly.  There have been studies that suggest kids that watch too much television have lower test scores, and that it can cause obesity, and acts of violence as well as desensitization to violence.

We control the shows that our children watch.  We have changed some of their viewing habits based on some inner guidelines we have set in our own core values.  For instance we don’t let our children say that something is “stupid.”  It’s a word we have chosen to be off limits due to its derogatory nature.  In turn the show “Two Stupid Dogs” has been blacklisted.  Does this shelter our children from the realities of life?  I’m not sure, but we try to remain consistent.  My son became very aggressive towards friends after watching Power Rangers.  Somehow he thought that he was a ninja and it was okay to bust the neighbor boy in the mush all because the Blue Power Ranger did it everyday.  We have now put that show on the list of programs that we feel might not be appropriate. 

Growing up I watched cartoons like Bugs Bunny and Yosemite Sam, and those were considered violent programs that desensitized us to violence.  I can remember in High School I did a paper on the number of acts of violence in a Road Runner cartoon.  The paper earned me an “A” but it may have warped my sense of goodness according to the “experts.”

Now that the summer months are upon us, our children are spending many more hours out in the fresh air and sunshine than they are inside the house watching television.  There won’t be the need to entertain them like before in winter when they could not go out to play.  Thank goodness we have never had any video games in the house, but that is another post.

TV, good or evil?

In my neighborhood/subdivision there is a community playground. There are swings, a merry-go-round and a jungle gym sliding board thingy all surrounded by a huge sandbox. We try to take our son there everyday. It is perfect for a two year old. It is only a block and a half from our house and it is set right next to a lake where we can watch boaters and water skiers, feed ducks and fish, as well as find all kinds of cool critters to chase.

A couple of weeks ago there were about 10 teenage kids playing basketball on the half court that sits about twenty feet away from the sandbox. They were rambunctious and having a good time when one of them yelled, “Motherfucker.” I looked at my wife and we both shrugged it off. Thirty seconds later another kid yelled “Asshole.” My wife and I both rolled our eyes.

Motherfucker was screamed again. My wife and I are not prudes but we felt the language was inappropriate for playground, especially since there were other little children playing. I walked over to the court and asked the teens to watch their use of the bad language. I asked nicely pointing out that there were small kids around. The teens laughed and gave a half-hearted apology.

I wasn’t even back to the sandbox when I heard a kid yell “Shit”. I turned and gave the kid the evil eye. Then another kid said “asshole”. Whether he was calling me an asshole or the other kid an asshole I do not know. But I was ticked.

I walked back to the court and told the kids that any fool can curse. I told them they did not have to respect me but they should be respectful of the kids in the park. I made a few jokes about me being an old man and what not and the teens chuckled. I also explained that my son was on the verge of talking and that I would appreciate it if his first words were not Motherfucker and asshole. Again, I received a half-hearted apology and I walked back to the sandbox.

A few minutes later a few other teens showed up. They were not present for my plea to stop the cursing. The new kids were using bad language as well. Not one of the original kids asked their friends to watch their mouths. Instead they laughed and mocked me. I walked back over to the court and told the kids I was starting to get angry. They could see it in my face because every one of the backed away from my approach. I addressed all of the kids told them to refrain from the yelling and screaming only to be met with them calling me names. I started to boil. I explained who I was and where I lived and that I was not afraid of their gang.

I started to feel that maybe we should just leave the park. That it was not worth the aggravation. I went to the swings to get my wife and son. But then I started to get even more ticked. I was not going to let this gang of kids win. I kept my eye on them and I watched as they all made cell phone calls. Soon, there were about 25 kids hanging out on the court. Not all teenagers. Some kids in their early twenties. A couple of big guys. They were pointing at me and whispering amongst themselves.

What would you do?

Have you ever had a day that was just terrible? Happens to us every now and then. You know what perks us right up? Watching movies of our son. There is nothing better than popping in a tape and laughing at events remembering times past.

We have a particular favorite spot in the tape where our son is taking a bath. He’s about one and just graduated out the Safety 1st tub ring (btw, does EVERYONE have this thing or what?). In this video, he’s learning all about buoyancy and getting lost in the multitude of bubbles. I swear, this kid can play in the tub for hours, so it’s a great time to set the video camera up and just let him do his thing.

A few weeks ago, Hygiene Dad #2 says, “Let’s watch the next tape when he older.”

My heart froze. I looked over and said, “Geez, I think it’s still in the video camera. In fact, I’m not sure what the last event was.”

We hooked the camera up to the TV and watched the last footage; July 2004; his 2nd birthday. And I realized I hadn’t taken a movie of him in almost two years. CRAP. All that time passed and we missed it.

Let’s not even think about when I convinced Dad #2 on why I needed this video camera that cost nearly a mortgage payment. “Do we really need something this fancy?” he said. “We want the best for our son, don’t we?” I’d reply. (That translates: Do you know how cool I’ll look at the kid’s soccer games with this mini-cam?)

But then, I’d gotten so accustomed to the digital camera, that it was just easier that shooting video. Thus the video camera suffered two years of neglect and we now suffer a lifetime of not watching him move from toddlerhood to the little-man stage.

How many times do we think it would be so funny to get something on tape while s/he still does that action? Silly little things like when he first learns to run holding his arms behind him, when he plays at sink filling measuring cups with water, or when he lifts up his shirt to show off his man dots.

Life goes pretty quick. He’ll soon be in kindergarten, then his teenage years, and eventually off to college. I’m not sure I want to forget all these memories that make him who he is…that makes me his dad. Sometimes it only takes a few minutes to preserve something for a lifetime.

Maybe it’s time to figure out where I stashed the video camera.

Living in Stockholm, Sweden, during the summer is just fabulous.  The whole population  is emerging energized from a long and depressing winter.  The winters here aren’t that cold, but they are very dark.  The darkness seems to just suck the energy out of your brain,  it’s tough to wake up in darkness and face darkness in the early afternoon. And Stockholm is still in the southern part of Sweden.  Try driving 10-15 hours north and check out the very cold winters and darkness that seems like a large black hole.  Comparing Sweden’s northern location to the U.S. would put us on a latitude somewhere in Alaska.  Fabulous but pretty far north.  What makes the summers so special in Sweden you might ask?  I’m not referring to the half naked gorgeous women, the 220 000 islands, Swedish meatballs, midsummer celebrations with Akvavit, or the ultra clean and scenic nature.  It’s the light.  The magnificent summer light that turns the whole summer into day.  But the magic light also creates a unique situation which can drive people crazy. If you’ve seen the movie Insomnia with Al Pacino you know what I mean  The problem is that there is no more darkness .  No darkness at all for several months.  And that is problematic if you have children.

Last weekend we had some people over for BBQ and some drinks to celebrate the beginning of summer.  After dinner our friends seemed oddly interested in our bedroom setups.  I was fearing another offer to go swinging, long story but we got asked in NYC and it freaked out my wife, but realized quickly that they were looking at something else.  Their two kids, age 2 and 5, were having problem sleeping in the new apartment because of the light and they were desperate to check out our window blinds.  Our setup includes normal blinds which make the bedrooms semi dark and an additional layer consisting of a roller blind that makes the room even darker.  Daniel even has  dark, double-layered rolling blinds in his room which can make it pitch black in case we ever have the need.

Have you ever been really far north during the summer? Like northern Alaska in June or July?  My hometown is located far north in Sweden, about an hour drive south of the Arctic Circle, where winters are incredibly cold and summers offer midnight sun for a several months.  It’s a very odd phenomena if you’re not used to it and tourists are always fascinated by seeing the sun 24 hours a day.  Here in Stockholm we never see the sun 24 hours a day but very close.  The sun sets and is hanging just below the horizon for an hour or so and then it rises again. But it’s still bright even when the sun sets and  it never gets even close to darkness between June and August.  The peak of the light is on Midsummer (third Friday in June) which is a large ancient celebration here in Sweden.  Many are upholding the tradition of raising the maypole but even more are focusing  on downing very large amounts of Akvavit and eating pickled herring or the disgusting sour herring.

Spending the summers here with kids is great but challenging.  Since there is no darkness, kids get confused and don’t want to sleep.  They seem to think it’s some kind of evil parenting trap to trick them into bed instead of playing outside.  If you’ve never been far north this might sound like some lame excuse.  How hard can it be to tell you child to stop playing, put on the pajama, and go to sleep?  Pretty hard is my answer.  Do this little experiment.  It’s a beautiful summer day and your kids are playing outside your house. It’s 3 pm, the sun is shining,  and your kids are having loads of fun.  Now, walk up to your child and tell him/her it’s late and time stop playing,  put on the pajama and go to bed.   Was your proposal met with enthusiasm?:-) That’s what we have to deal with every day for several months. And we aren’t even that far north.  Imagine the situation at the Arctic Circle. Our son is pretty good though and  usually offers manageable resistance. But he’s  confused since he can see the sun  and senses that something is not quite right.

People that move here are rarely prepared for the big changes in the summer.  The very large contrast between summer and winter makes it even more difficult.  Desperate phone calls asking for large black towels or sheets to cover the windows are common.  Swedes never complain about the light though.  They are aware of the short summers and enjoy them tremendously.  We just need to figure out how to prolong the summers a bit more.  Would it be possible to move Sweden to Florida?

My favorite thing about becoming a dad was watching what traits my son would inherit. Unfortunately, neither family has Nobel Prize winners, but then again, we don’t have serial killers either, so I’d say that gives the kid a fair shot at being somewhat normal…relatively speaking, of course.

So when we all decided to have a child, I thought it was only fair to warn the moms of one most likely outcome. “We’re going to have a son,” I told them. (The Y chromosome runs through our family like the common cold.)

The moms just laughed it off. “Given that we haven’t even conceived yet, that might be a little presumptuous, Mr. Ultrasound.”

HA! Call me the Dionne Warwick Psychic Friends Network, but I pegged this one a mile away.

The first time I saw him, he had light blond hair and blue eyes. I tried to console the birth mom. “Hey, I know he looks just like me, but maybe a few of your traits will emerge someday.”

OK, lesson #1, never try to be humorous with a woman who just went through eleven hours of labor and popped out a 9.6 lb. kid naturally.  “All kids have blue eyes when they are born, you ding dong,” she said. (Actually, much harsher words came out at that time, but this is a family show so I’m keeping it cleaning.)  I bit my tongue since there was no point in proving my superior intelligence. Besides, the lactation nurse had just arrived and since seeing the ‘girls’ come out ain’t my thing, I ditched to go stare at my gene pool in the next room.

Our son’s Mom has dark curly hair, brown eyes and more of an olive complexion. I’m about as Scandinavian/Polish looking as you can get. My partner always calls me ‘the other white meat.’ While it would have been great to have my kid look a little like me, I knew the chances would be slim. However, his mom is beautiful, so if he looked like her, he’d be a heart breaker.
 
Turns out my swimmers are pretty powerful and the next thing you know, we have a little towhead with bright blue eyes running around. He’s a little mini-me. My mom was over at our house looking at pictures and said, “He looks so cute in this black & white picture. You know we have a picture of you that looks just like this one.”  Even the grandma is fooled. “Mom, that is me.”

This past year, the boy finally settled on writing left-handed, just like dear old dad. It’s been amazing to see how genetics work through the lives of those you create. Traits that you never really thought about magically appear before your eyes.

About a month ago, we were all having dinner and the moms were talking about event that had taken place one Saturday morning. “It was terrible. He was moody and whined and pouted. We couldn’t get him out it and just let him sulk all day.”

My partner just looked over at me and smiled.

I quickly looked over at the birth mom. “Well, it’s nice to see that some traits are coming from your side.”

I had a father once. He passed away when I was six and while I have tried hard to remember, my memories of him have slightly faded over time, like an old yellowed photograph. It was tough growing up without a father. It’s not something that a young child (or even a 35-year-old man, for that matter) gets over easily. Looking back on my childhood, however, I don’t dwell on that extremely sad time. It is but a snapshot of my life, and while it shapes who I am today unlike any other event in my life, it is not the only thing that defines me. Much of that is due to my mother.

My mother was widowed in August, 1977. She was a 27-year-old woman, suddenly left to provide for a six-year-old and his one-year-old brother. Within a year, she was enrolled in a four-year university and we moved to that campus so she could pursue her degree. Over the years my mother did her best to provide for my brother and myself. Only now am I beginning to understand the stress that she must have endured while raising two small children. Emotional and financial support was hard to come by for her, yet she did her best. While not perfect, she perservered. Yes, she stumbled at times but while she lost some battles, over time she won the war. She raised two well-adjusted, bright and successful young men.

She did this while many of her friends, with children the same age as myself, were having trouble with their children. Teenage pregnancies, school problems and more. I remember one day a friend of hers, who had a child who was rebellious and getting into trouble, asked how my mother managed to raise such wonderful boys. I don’t remember her answer, but I can tell you now what it was…

Everyday, she told us she loved us. Every. Day. Every night she would tuck me into bed and tell me she loved me. “I love you more than there are stars in the sky” she would whisper. I would reply, “Well, I love you more than there is sand on the beach.” And it would continue, each of us trying to outdo the other in professing our love. Through thick and thin, I knew my mother loved me.

Now, I’m a father of children of my own. While I don’t have a blueprint to follow as far as what a father should be, I only have to look to my mother’s love to know that being a parent has to start, and end, with love. So, as we get ready to celebrate Mother’s Day tomorrow, I will take some time to call my mother and tell her that I love her more than there are stars in the sky.

Happy Mother’s day to all of you mothers out there. May you find love and happiness in the face of your child.

I often joke about sex, but after Pickle’s Papa made a comment on the previous post about having sex after your wife has a baby, I thought it might be a good topic of discussion for everyone.  Afterall, communication is key in this situation.  See Honey, those years of therapy are paying off. 

I have had My wife has given birth to four beautiful children in the last 6+ years.  Each of the birth experiences were different, but each resulted in what I called the “Double Secret Six Week Post Partum Probationary Period.” (I have numerous posts about this period, not that it’s important or anything.)  The births were of no significance for damage so it is not exactly on point with PP’s comment but close enough.  This probation is the standard period that some, if not most, physicians tell us is the time your wife needs for things to return to normal.  After that time it’s, gentlemen start your engines, Katie bar the door, and let the games begin.  This is the case if we all live in a utopian society where things go perfect. 

If you are a first time father it isn’t always clear what to expect after childbirth.  I can remember the anxiety of not wanting to have sex with my wife because of the experience she just went through.  If I were to say that the graphic nature of the birth itself didn’t have an effect on my sexual psyche, I would be lying.  You begin to feel a little insignificant when you look over at your bald baby’s head and harken back to a time pre-baby.  I suppose that is just a natural thing.  Truth is, things tend to go back to normal in spite of the violence that occurred in the nether regions.  I have heard of piggish father types asking the doc to “throw and extra stitch in there for me,” but I would never live through that crack.

This should also put your own mind at ease when thinking that somehow you are going to hurt the Mrs. the first time the rodeo is in town.  I would refer you to the above violence and state that:  If you are having that kind of sex, then I for one want to give you a high five.

I would also venture to say that you are Key Master and she is the Gatekeeper.  I would wait to see if that key works after permission from the one holding the lock.  Go slow and let Mommy decide what time is best.  She has been up every two hours for the last six weeks feeding your child.  Those toothpicks holding open her eyelids tend to get in the way of foreplay, and perhaps the last thing on her mind is getting some exercise. (Try getting up one night to feed said child while she gets to rest…that can get a guy some action.) 

Most of all I think that you must communicate your needs and wants.  This can be the most important aspect of returning to the promised land.  After one of our children was born, I forget now because it all seems a blurred image in my mind, my wife and I were both waiting for the other to give the signal for the “thumbs up”.  We went an extra long time between the ending of the probationary period and the start of the rough and rowdy because we failed to talk to each other.  She was assuming that she was fat and gross, and I was assuming that the last thing she wanted near her ovaries again was that monster that had made her go through that nightmare.  We had a good chuckle after the fact, but we wasted valuable time that could have been more fun than changing the sheets for breast milk reasons (of course, that’s a whole other post). 

Now I turn it over to you mommies, and certainly more of you daddies to lend your wisdom.  Is their sex after children?