Father Inc, getting ready for baby, Product Reviews, stuff best described as not safe for parents

The ultimate bag for daddies.

Mothers get all the fun baby accessories. You have the awesome but also feminine-looking beco baby-carrier, Kate Spade diaperbags, the Medela Twin Turbo Breast pumps, to name a few.

Daddies basically carry around the aforementioned which is totally inergonomical and ill-fitting to our muscular frame *flex*.

Despondent by the lack of customised accessories and crackpot gizmos for the new father, I have spent the past year and a half working closely with Deuter to come up with the ultimate bag for dads that is called – wait for it – the BagDad.

In spite of the apparent misnomer it is well known that Iraqis do not make anything besides chemical bombs so I’m not too concerned about the implications here.

The Bagdad is a ground-breaking, cutting edge piece of technology that blends the best of military, motorbiking and culinary equipment.

The Bagdad

1. Milk Distillation/Hydration System

The man-boob debuted in 2004’s Meet the Fockers but the past six years have seen tremendous strides taken in the field of perfecting what is now commonly known as the “milk moob”.

The Bagdad’s milk moob involves a complex liposuction system that basically breaks down the fats of the carrier in yet another complex process similar to that of a woman expressing milk. Without going into the technical details, fathers can now lose anywhere between 10-25 kg wearing the Bagdad and also feed the baby for somewhere between 18 months to a year.

2. Helmet

A child’s mind is his most valuable possession. This helmet has a built-in audio system that will loop the theme song from Special Agent OSO as studies have proven that too much Sesame Street increases the intelligence of a person disconsolately. It was King Solomon who said that “too much study wearies the mind” and I totally concur.

3.  Tantrum Stabilizing

This is for strapping the baby’s arms together similar to that of a mental patient in a straight jacket. Best used with the Contoured and Removable Hip Belt with Gear Loops (See below).

4. Food Channelling Sternum Strap

Older babies will move towards consuming solids like crushed oreos with melted butter or shredded lard deep fried in olive oil (cos its *healthier* that way). The food channelling sternum strap feeds your little twinkie baby from an interior storage compartment that maintains it at an optimum temperature to maintain a thin crisp,especially for the shredded lard.

5. Contoured Shoulder Straps for Baby’s buttocks.

There are times when you absolutely need to hoist your baby high up in the air; for example when you’re clubbing and there’s a hovering cloud of smoke just about face-height or when you get caught spitting gum onto the ceiling. It’s self-explanatory, really.

6. Poop Suction (the Deuter Alpine System).

The irritating thing about kids is that they do their business as and when they feel like it. By purchasing the S-plug or the Splug (sold seperately at $39.90) to connect your child to the Poop Suction or as the fancy-pants suit at Deuter insists I call it, the Deuter Alpine System, you no longer have to worry about diaper changes or wet-wipe warmers.

7. Contoured and Removable Hip Belt with Gear Loops.

I’m a firm believer that every child needs to be disciplined. Inspired by Mel Gibsons’s the Passion of the Christ, The Contoured and Removable Hip Belt with Gear Loops will ensure a memorable and life-transforming disciplinary session for your child. You can also customise it by purchasing Barb Hooks with Heatable tips at $9.99 or simply purchase a Whip Extension at $4.99 to give you that extra dimension (and length) for that escaping baby.

**********

To purchase Bagdad, visit www.deuter.com.
Key in [Motherinc] as the promo code for a 20% discount.
motherhood, side effects of motherhood

Sugar and spice and all things nice

Remember how I was so sure that Kirsten was a boy before I found out that she was a girl? Most of you probably haven’t even started reading yet but I went around telling everyone that she was a boy and I even called her Travis for 5 months. I was kind of bummed, not because I don’t like girls (quite the contrary) but because if she grows up to have gender issues, it’s all on me.

I told the husband that I couldn’t care if I had 5 boys or 5 girls, it’s all the same to me. “As long as they were healthy” was the politically correct phrase. Now that I have one of each, I’ll fess up, I do care. I would be massively bummed if I had 5 boys and no girls. I’d feel like I was missing something and also, too much testosterone in the house is very bad.

Tru is all about adrenaline and adventure. His idea of love is doing crazy stuff to make us laugh, he squirms the moment I get too huggy kissy and if I smooch him too many times, he goes “no no no no noooooo“.

That’s why I’m really glad I’ve got baby girl. She loves sitting on my lap and gazing into my eyes. She lets me hug and squeeze her for as long as I want (which is forever). She breaks into this shy, girly smile when I nuzzle my nose into her ears. Even her giggles are so saccharine sweet that my heart turns to mush. She loves me back exactly the way I love her and that’s really awesome.

my heart doesn't even stand a chance

kids inc, motherhood, not feeling so supermom, side effects of motherhood

Breathe, just breathe

When Tru was born, I called him chicken legs. Mostly because he had chicken legs, all skinny and bony. Every time I changed him, I held them ever so gingerly because I was afraid they would snap if I yanked too hard.

I remember looking at him during his first week at home and thinking how ironic it was that the most precious thing we had was so fragile and so easily broken.

It’s an irrational fear but nonetheless a very real one. As parents, we can’t help it. It’s terribly instinctive. My heart races and I can’t breathe and my mind goes blank because it can’t even handle the thought that something bad will happen to him.

But we held him and fed him and showered him with love and within 3 months, we had to call him thunder thighs. Mostly because he had thunderous thighs, all fat and juicy. Just as we reveled in chewing his juicy rolls, he came down with a bout of the flu and he was back to being broken all over again. He sniffled and sneezed and coughed and I felt like my heart broke with every whimper. His eyes were all teary so I held him for 6 hours straight until he managed to fall asleep on my chest.

Every time we start think that he’s alright, he would trip and knock his head or bleed all over his shirt or catch another flu bug and that awful feeling of panic would come back.

As he grew, my heart got stronger as he got stronger. The feeling of dread dissipated and I started to believe that he’s actually going to make it.

Then on Thursday, he came down with the sniffles again, which was fairly normal. But by Friday, he started wheezing and his chest heaved as he struggled to take in tiny breaths of air, which was not normal at all. Also, all that running and climbing made it worse so he would stop occasionally to catch his breath. We rushed him to the hospital and it was diagnosed as bronchiolitis, which sounds like a terribly scary word. Anything itis is bad, like meningitis or laryngitis or prostatitis, all bad.

It was by far the worst experience ever. They swabbed his nose, x-rayed him, pumped his system with ventolin and a whole ton of meds. He was back to being chicken legs all over again. He clung on to his blankie and shuffled his feet and smiled weakly when I made faces at him. During his entire hospital stay, we had to pin him down and make him inhale ventolin every 2 hours while he screamed and flailed and cried for mercy.

He’s finally home and all better now but I honestly don’t think I can take much more. Watching him struggle for breath is possibly the most painful thing I’ve ever had to do and I could feel myself breathe harder because just maybe it would help him.

That’s the thing with having kids. A piece of your heart breaks every time you see them hurting and I’m not sure I have that many pieces to spare.