Dad for Beginners

Amateurism at its best

November 16, 2014
by Creed

The Piñata

Young children do not need further incentive to be mischievous. It is a relatively well-known fact amongst the parent population that kids have an uncanny ability to find trouble where seemingly none exists. If manufacturing malfeasance was an industry, child labor laws would be outlawed forever. The vast majority of kids could find meaningful employment by professionally destroying everything within their wingspan. Productivity would skyrocket…and children would be researched as the next sustainable energy source. Eventually, all gas and electrical powered machinery would run on the harnessed power of unbridled childhood troublemaking and the energy affiliated with it. We would finally be free from fossil fuels forever. Rejoice.

The piñata is one of the ways in which modern parents have lassoed historical tradition and morphed it into a means by which children can further develop their destructive nature. The concept of the piñata has a rich history, dating back to ancient China, 14th century Europe, and Mayan Mesoamerica. The original piñata was a way to honor the cultural gods of the region and celebrate the coming harvest. By beating a papier-mâché animal with jagged sticks, the bounty contained within would fall to the feet of the idol, thus welcoming the harvest. Original piñatas often contained the seeds that would subsequently be planted and would flourish under the care of the false god from which they were beaten out of.


Refrain from using mythical creatures in your piñata, children need to believe in what they are destroying.

For modern children celebrating an event by smashing the innards out of a colorful animal, they too can channel the deified sacrificial abilities of Huitzilopochtli and instantly command the upper hand in tribute warfare with their rival kindergarten. Kids truly do not know the advantages they stand to gain by quickly and efficiently maiming the dangling papier-mâché critter.

Through this show of childhood strength and violence, kids can also learn two of the most valuable assets in adulthood: bloodshed and greed. It is of paramount importance in 21st century America that young children learn as early as possible that the world is a cruel and evil place and the only possible way to get ahead is to resort to excessive brutality and foster an increased hunger for gluttony. By decisively destroying the piñata and selfishly claiming its inner bounty for oneself, a child will fully comprehend the American way of avarice and annihilation. If they can somehow be taught do it as remorselessly as possible, then consider that the true definition of an added perk.


Pictured here, a group of future capitalists learn how to brutalize beauty and hoard the reward. Americans in training.

Once the violent energy of children has been scientifically adapted into useable power for our vehicles and warmth, piñatas could be the single greatest asset in the renewable resource community, replacing things like petroleum, natural gas, solar panels, wind turbines, and eventually the sun altogether. With children as the nucleus of all life on Earth, we can thrive forever in eternal darkness long after the sun has expired, surrounded by an abundance of sustainable energy and the incandescent glow of the planetary nebula.

The key is harnessing this energy. By doing so, you are not only perpetuating human existence, but you’re educating kids on the importance of savagery and greed all while maximizing the productivity of your own personal human generator. While the tangible and financial benefits to adults will be historically unparalleled, the intrinsic value will be unprecedented. After all, there is nothing more simple yet productive than teaching kids to bludgeon flamboyant animals with clubs and then fight over who gets to keep its insides.

The piñata, therefore, represents a landmark discovery in the history of the human race. With a little modern innovation, we as adults can simultaneously coach children to buy into our cultural norms while being productive members of society. It’s a win-win. Be sure to congratulate your youngling when he or she is the sole beneficiary of a successful piñata assault. They are well on their way to becoming full-fledged, productive adults and maybe, just maybe, the saviors of all mankind.

November 14, 2014
by Creed

The Mythical Creatures of Childhood, pt. 4: Chuck Norris

Some punk teenager just told me a Chuck Norris joke. This ends now.

If you are reading this and were born after 1992, please close the window now. Actually, who am I kidding? Kids don’t read anymore.

Kid’s lives these days are empty of so many pleasures that children of my generation experienced. Today’s youth are glued to their smartphones and locked into the communicative superhighway of modern technology in place of any real human interaction. Instead of searching the neighborhood for a cluster of bicycles to locate the whereabouts of their friends, they can simply login to Snapchat or What’s App or Facebook and immediately locate their posse, then proceed to communicate without ever having to leave the confines of their own room or turn off the One Direction.

Chuck Norris

Look for the bikes. This is how kids used to find their friends before technology.

To the modern youngster, Chuck Norris is no different than the Easter Bunny or Santa. They hear about him. They suspect that he may actually exist. But they do not really know for sure. In part, this is because Chuck Norris is now 74 years old and while he still looks like he is in his mid-40s, he’s far too old for anyone born after 1992 to appreciate. However, due to the fantastic jokes that have circulated through the years about Chuck Norris, kids think that they have the liberty to tell Chuck Norris jokes. They don’t.

We’ve all heard these ridiculous jokes a thousand times over. Death once had a near-Chuck Norris experience. Jesus walks on water, Chuck Norris swims on land. Chuck Norris doesn’t write code, he stares at the computer screen until he gets the program he wants. Hilarious yes, however not useable social material for anyone under the age of 23. Even 23 is pushing it a little.

Chuck Norris

Chuck Norris doesn’t wear a watch, he decides what time it is.

As Chuck Norris recedes into the twilight of his life, he has become a mythical figure for virtually anyone born in the mid to late 90s and beyond. For those of us old enough to remember, Chuck Norris was merely a man, albeit a superhuman badass of a man in skinny jeans that no human male should ever be caught wearing. Adults who remember Chuck Norris will always appreciate him for his Bruce-Lee-esque martial arts abilities and ridiculous similarities to a modern day John Wayne. These people can freely tell Chuck Norris jokes.

So consider this the unofficial Chuck Norris obituary. Is he still alive? Yes. However for all practical purposes, the Chuck Norris of our lives is gone forever and has been replaced by a pantheon of hilarious colloquialisms that only us old folks truly appreciate. Run along now, children. Miley Cyrus is whoring it up on a stage near you.


November 3, 2014
by Creed

Autumnal Darkness

The autumn season is in full swing and never is that more apparent than when people constantly remind you that it is, indeed, fall. Humans feel the need to fill silence with meaningless conversation and the annual onset of autumn is one of the most prevalent ways that the socially needy will justify breaking any peaceful silence. The fall season is applauded for its beauty. It is widely recognized for transitional esteem, as the bountiful summer foliage takes on breathtaking hues as it experiences its annual decline into morbidity. Autumn also signifies the beginning of seasonal togetherness. There is no time like autumn to reunite with people you don’t want to spend time with the rest of the year.

One of the most immediately recognizable characteristics of autumn is the changing of the flora. Fall is renowned for the beauty that natural vegetation dons as it descends yet again into death. If the cycle of seasons were institutions of human wellness, autumn is the hospice. Loyal autumn promoters take this opportunity to spend one last moment with the terminal wildlife before it decays completely and vanishes. The is nothing less hopeful than a hospice and nothing more depressing than autumn. After all, there is no better occasion for celebration than watching a loved one drift towards the light.


The Roman Emperor Nero enjoyed the blood of slain Christians on his front lawn as aesthetically pleasing.

Fall is truly a time for the senses. In addition to the beautiful disintegration of wildlife, autumn also provides a series of sensory delights for the tongue and nose. Many popular flavors are now becoming readily available that seemingly do not exist any other time of year. Pumpkin spice is the ringleader of this uncontrollable mob of pseudo-flavors. While it is a relatively well known fact that pumpkin spice contains no pumpkin whatsoever, the autumn loyalists form a line that wraps thrice around the local Starbucks just so they can pay $8 for an arbitrary mixture of ginger, nutmeg, and cinnamon. Additionally, the exceedingly rare cows that produce the mysterious egg-like milk substance known as egg nog become fully mature this time of year. It is a little known fact amongst the seasonal flavor junkies that it takes 10 years to successfully cross-breed a cow and an egg to create this holiday delight. Enjoy your egg nog sparingly, as it is the furthest thing from a renewable resource currently in existence.


The cows that produce pumpkin spice egg nog are rarely seen in their natural habitat.

Another exciting highlight of the current season is the nearing turkey genocide. For 10 months out of the year, most turkeys live peaceful lifestyles free from the perils that await other delicious birds of a similar genome. However, for a turkey, autumn signifies more than dying foliage and made-up flavors, it brings the annual holocaust of their kind. For the bulk of the year, most people are quite content to live their mundane lives without the presence of a turkey. However, as the weather and surrounding nature take on a darker and more somber appearance, so too does the life expectancy of most turkeys. For the next 2 months, turkeys will be targeted more aggressively that a catholic priest running a non-secular orphanage for misguided adolescents.


Gather ’round the table and enjoy what’s easily one of the ugliest creatures in existence.

The final cornerstone of the autumn season is the familial togetherness it represents. Many people will utilize this time of year to reconnect with friends and family. Typically, these celebrations will occur indoors in the presence of a freshly roasted turkey accompanied by virtually all of the frivolous flavors of the season. Familial intimacy during autumn is boosted by the presence of everything that makes the season great: dead turkeys, frigid cold, and contrived flavors. As the outside world succumbs to the freezing temperatures and you are forced into your home for warmth, be sure to spend as much time inside with the people you only want to see when you literally have no other options.

As the autumn season slowly wanes into another bleak winter, remember everything you’ve read here and keep your head up. After all, this is a time to celebrate natural death and artificial delights. There is truly no better time to embrace your Americanism. Happy holidays.

October 29, 2014
by Creed

Dress Up as an Idiot for Halloween…Everyone is doing it…

Show me a holiday that’s designed exclusively for children, and I’ll show you a holiday that adults will eventually seize, overthrow, and capture for themselves. Think about it. Virtually every holiday that we celebrate in this wonderful nation has now become an excuse to get heavily intoxicated and binge eat. Even days that were not traditionally considered holidays like St. Patrick’s Day have become annual celebratory occasions for the excessive consumption of alcohol. Halloween is even more special because it allows adults to forego reality altogether and dress up as mythical or fantastic things. As the true definition of an added perk, adults also have the ability to commandeer their younglings candy hoard in the subsequent days.

Adults dressing up in Halloween costumes is the most tragic and laughable modern twist on this once great holiday. When I was a kid back in the early 90s, adults only donned Halloween costumes insofar as they were chaperoning their progeny during a raucous night of unbridled candy scavenging around the hamlet. Modern adult Halloween costumes are used for nothing of the sort. Nowadays, adults spend hours and dollars to create or buy the most outrageous, frightening, hilarious, or provocative ensembles to impress other adults and maybe, just maybe, solicit some drunken intercourse from a total stranger. Modern Halloween is akin to going to singles night at a circus.


If you need a role model for your children, Halloween is a time to find plenty.

One of the key components to a successful Halloween is no longer a quiet residential neighborhood or even the presence of children. In fact, the only two ingredients required for Halloween triumph are alcohol and stupidity. In much the same way a fraternity operates, Halloween enthusiasts will thrive whether or not children are involved and having fun. Kids have become ancillary to a happy Halloween party. So long as there are immature and juvenile grown persons dressed as idiots, all that’s required is alcohol and Halloween has been executed flawlessly. Well done, grown-ups.


Dressing up is enough to prove you’re a dick. But if there’s any doubt in your mind, just dress up AS a dick.

Revolting against this ridiculous trend is futile. Moronic adults will always outnumber those of us who, well, aren’t. Perhaps even more disheartening is the fact that these Halloween jerkoffs have an increased likelihood of procreating, especially considering their inebriated state and already poor decision-making abilities. The only salvation from this lunacy is retreating into your home, turning off the lights, and hanging a pentagram soaked in the blood of an infant goat from your door. At the very least, your house will look scary, which as I recall was once one of the cornerstones of physical Halloween decor. Despite all the promiscuously dressed Halloween hussies, I’ve yet to see a sexy front door in the residential world. At least household decoration is still relatively consistent with historical tradition.


If you’re not sure if you look stupid in your Halloween costume, don’t worry, you do.

Fraternizing with the dimwitted masses is unavoidable in life. Unfortunately, these people are everywhere. At work. Shopping. Dining in restaurants. And they cannot be stopped. These are also the people who will invite you to their children’s birthday, then use Halloween for their own selfish endeavors. By all means, invite me to your child’s birthday party, just make sure there is an open bar. Actually it won’t even matter, I’ll already be drunk when I arrive.

October 25, 2014
by Creed

Halloween is for Kids

Halloween is just around the corner and I cannot recall a day I look forward to less. Every year at this time, children don frightening and clever costumes and walk around neighborhoods begging strangers for empty calories. The luckiest children, the ones who live in cold climates, will have the pleasure of their moms enforcing that they wear their winter parka over their costumes. There is nothing scarier that a suburban white kid who looks like he may or may not be some sort of dinosaur beneath his gortex insulated windbreaker. Modern Halloween, however, has become yet another holiday that adults have co-opted from the youth and transformed into a day of holiday debauchery. Of particular distress to a once fun-filled holiday is the direction that modern females have taken it.

The rise of the slutty Halloween costume is a relatively recent phenomenon in the paradigm of modern Halloween foolishness. For many women of varying ages, it has become popular within the last 10 or so years to combine virtually any form of animal ears with lingerie and call it a costume. Look around you this Halloween. What do you see? Odds are you’ll see a few zombies, a handful of witches, and copious amounts of slutty bunnies, cats, mice, and devils. In fact, the modern female has been able to adapt virtually any costume into sleaze. Instead of targeting the scary or comedic costumes, the gross majority of women nowadays will go as a slutty nurse, a slutty princess, a slutty twix bar, a slutty storm trooper, or a slutty crash-test dummy. In a recent poll of Halloween ho-bags, the overwhelming majority supported changing the name to Hallow’peen. Women have single-handedly destroyed an already marginal holiday and turned it into yet another reason to be narcissistic.


Explain to me how this is a costume, and I’ll explain to you how it’s not.

You’d think that as a man, I’d champion this type of mutation in the evolution of the female Halloween costume, but I don’t. Granted, I find the scantily clad female form as alluring as the next dirtbag, however when I was a lad, Halloween was about being scary and being creative. Women have demeaned Halloween to the least common denominator in an unconscious attempt to further cheapen an already cheap holiday.

Women will justify their classless costumes based on the attention they get from men. Halloween has become a day where women can wear virtually anything and pass it off as a costume. Real Halloween excellence lies with the woman who can successfully pull off a sexy Stephen A. Douglas ensemble. C’mon girl, let’s go trick-or-treating and debate the tenets of popular sovereignty. After all, nothing is sexier than a brain and Civil War politics.


There is nothing scarier, sexier, or smarter than Senator Stephen A. Douglas. Expand your intellectual territory and tell me where you stand on Dred Scott.

This Halloween, I’m going to give all you single men out there a tip. Go as something that all these Halloween whores will find attractive to their lifestyles. Like an 80-year-old dude with a terminal illness, a bag of money and a living will. Step your game up, Halloween skanks. I’m on to you.

You can rise above this sexualized vanity by remembering that Halloween is a day for kids to dress up as their favorite characters or scary things and solicit unhealthy delights from total strangers. If rising above things isn’t your forte, then you can be like me and simply turn off the lights, close the door, and sleep soundly knowing that you’re neither part of the problem nor part of the solution. When in doubt, indifference is always a smart alternative.

October 20, 2014
by Creed

When Cultures Clash…pt. 4


“You need to know how to feed the baby. You Americans have an easy, careless way for everything. You don’t feed it from the jar. No! No! There is no jar! You boil the vegetables and then…you…puree…them! You know, in the BLENDER! THAT is how babies eat.”

pt. 1, Birth Announcements

pt. 2, Easter Bunny

pt. 3, Birth Prep

October 15, 2014
by Creed

To Live is to Suffer

Suffering takes on a wide variety of forms, each instance relative to the environment and culture in which it takes place. The adult world is ripe with endless suffering. Sometimes suffering is physical, sometimes emotional. Each harmful in its own way. To live is to suffer. To survive is to find meaning in the suffering.

I had a really rough day last week. My 15mo old son fell asleep on my lap. He loves it there. I enjoy holding my son while he sleeps. It is very peaceful for both of us. However, the painfully humid environment of my Southern California, third-floor apartment combined with the warm corpus of my sleeping child caused me to perspire. I quickly found myself in a situation of intense suffering when my scrotum used the heightened atmospheric moisture created by the humidity and adhered itself to my inner thigh. Any man will tell you that sticky scrotum is not a sought after scrotal state. I was thus in a position of choice. Do I shift my body to ease my extreme discomfort and risk waking my son? Or do I persevere through the temporary hardship and allow him to continue sleeping peacefully. Fatherhood is filled with these kind of life-or-death decisions.


Do you know someone suffering from sticky scrotum? Donate all you can.

Unfortunately, this is not an isolated incident. I endure routine suffering. Just the other day I found myself in yet another prickly situation. While playing with my son on the floor, I inadvertently cut my thumb on a foreign object buried deep within our carpet. The unknown and mysterious object punctured my skin. There was blood everywhere. My thumb bled for a period of at least 25 seconds. The cut was deep enough that at least 0.0005 milliliters of blood spilled down my hand. It was easily enough to perform a blood transfusion on a tadpole larvae or chafer beetle pupae. Luckily I have superhuman thrombogenesis, extra strength hemoglobin, and an unnaturally high tolerance for pain.


I’m lucky to be alive.

My endless personal turmoil is not limited to physical pain. Emotional suffering plays a large role in my daily agony. I’ve been married for almost six years which represents roughly 20% of my life. One can deduce from that timeline, that of the approximately 10,500 days I’ve spent on this Earth, at least 2,100 of them have been spent in some state of emotional confusion which has contributed to my continued existence as an emotionless black hole of feelings. There is no individual less emotionally available than myself. And while marriage is not to blame for this, it certainly creates a hurricane of emotions that simply are not readily accessible within the frivolous exoskeleton known as my emotional welfare.


My troubled soul. Seeking release.

The triumph of the human spirit is evident in my day-to-day lifestyle. I’ve overcome severe instances of suffering that would have left a lesser man crippled. I’ve proven to myself that I can endure unwelcome troughs and crests of emotion, humidity induced sticky sac, and even torturous stab wounds that damn near resulted in stigmata.

Suffering manifests in a variety of guises. In Western Africa, suffering is dehydration and malnourishment due to drought and lack of resources. This type of suffering often results in widespread famine and eventual death. Suffering in Eastern Europe is excruciating physical labor due to a poor infrastructure created from decades of imperialism and economic oppression. This kind of suffering leads to lower life expectancy and scarcity of resources. Suffering in middle eastern nations is the constant threat of religious and ethnic warfare. This kind of suffering results in war-torn families and potential physical disfigurement. Suffering for me is when I lose my phone charger and my battery life in less than 20%. This kind of suffering leads to my phone dying. Life is hard.

the wisdom to know the difference

October 6, 2014
by Creed

The Wisdom to Know the Difference

For a man, one of the perceived perks of having a son is the opportunity to raise “a little you.” Often times, men will remain neutral when discussing their expectancy. They will outwardly root for a healthy child of either sex but deep down, many men are pulling for a boy. It is in this vein that men are not anticipating a baby, but anticipating what the baby will inevitably become…a young boy and eventually, a man.

This represents the desire of a man to mold a child in his own image of masculinity. It seems only natural that a father would teach his son to be like him. As men, we too often get caught up in the pomp and egocentrism of being a man. It comes with the territory…or at least culturally we are taught to believe this is the case.

But as a new father, the prospect of raising a “little you” can be painfully revealing. Is it truly in the best interest of the child that he become like you? Sometimes it is only through this lens that a father can observe his own shortcomings as a man.

I can only look at this from one perspective, my own. Inevitably, this requires a level of introspection not readily available in this frivolous exoskeleton known as my emotional wellbeing.

When pondering the prospect that one day my son could be just like me, my mind drifts towards the darker corners of my life. The drug use, the arrests, the deceit and separation my malfeasance caused my family, and of course, the financial and personal strain of things like collegiate failures, a DUI, a near divorce, and the ever-present emotional gridlock my mind is trapped within. I use such memories to categorize myself as an individual. This is how I manufacture my own lens for viewing myself as a role model to my son.

These forgettable events in my life are the ones that make me question whether I’m a suitable template from which to mold a new human. Most of these items are not sought after qualities. In fact, one could argue that I’m the antithesis of adequate role models everywhere. I’m the bizarro father figure.

Periods of negativity haunt my desires to teach my son to be like me. But when I truly examine who I am, I realize that the soft underbelly of my upper-middle class upbringing is admittedly, my soft underbelly. I never faced any real conflict. I wasn’t raised on the streets. I’ve never really struggled. I was afforded all the benefits most parents could only wish to bestow upon their offspring. I drank champagne from crystal stemware on a beer budget.

Although I understand where things went wrong for me, there are many aspects of who I am that I fear I will not be able to prevent my own son from becoming. The havoc I wrought and the wreckage I left was my own doing. I made my own choices. I wonder if the same choices will manifest in his life…and which road he will take.

In drug addict and alcoholic support groups, the leadership encourages attendees to say a prayer. I’ve never been one for praying…or religion…or synchronized group chanting, but the prayer goes like this:

[insert mythological diety], grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

the courage to change the things I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference.

The group leaders will often encourage the addicts to stand in a circle and hold hands while reciting this. As a collective display of camaraderie and solidarity, it’s a little over the top. But the verse makes a strong point and it is the final line of the serenity prayer that is the key. The wisdom to know the difference. This is applicable in any aspect of our lives, not simply when begrudgingly abstaining from drug usage.

I’ve created lots of roadblocks in my life. I’ve built a lot of walls and torched countless bonds of trust. I’ve had my share of poignant moments but none are sufficient enough to claim that a baby boy will benefit from learning to be like me. It is in this way that I’m not teaching my son to be like me, I’m struggling to show him how I should have been. I’m yearning to afford him all of the benefits I had without succumbing to the poor decisions.

I want my son to see me as an example. Someone he can look up to and learn from. However, at a certain point, I can only show him the path towards being a good man since I’ve not walked it myself. This where I invoke the only wisdom I possess.

The wisdom to know the difference.

The wisdom to know the difference is an understanding of when I am the example versus when I should be guiding towards the example. It is embracing a hands-on approach to fatherhood but realizing the moments to observe without interceding. It is viewing my son’s life as a microcosm of my own and seeing it analytically as if I had a second chance to correct past mistakes. It is providing a doorway without opening the door. It is acting as the spoke of a wheel but not the force behind which it will eventually roll.

There is no template from which I can work. No stencil to place on the canvas of his life. I’m an infant otter endeavoring to crack a clamshell but I’ve yet to discover my tools. Training my mind to discern the moments that require the courage to change versus moments to embrace the things I cannot change is my white whale. I’m an average father at best, but I relentlessly hunt for the wisdom to know the difference, and in doing so, attempt to guide my son to be both an image of me and the good man I never was.


September 30, 2014
by Creed

Thousands of Years of Bad Parenting Advice: Vikings

Old North Germanic peoples (i.e. Norse, Viking) embraced their children as adults-in-training immediately from birth. Sick or deformed babies were discarded – left alone to die. Children didn’t engage in recreation. The sole purpose of their existence was to train as adults. Boys were taught to farm, to hunt, and to fight. Viking boys were encourage to wrestler, grapple, and were given weapons with which to practice.

Children were taught the value in personal hygiene. Contrary to popular culture, which depicts Vikings as an unclean people, they were amongst the most hygienic culture of the time.

Lineage and family was important to Vikings. This was also something represented through Viking children. e.g. Leif Ericsson translates as Leif, son of Erik. Through naming, Vikings would honor the father in what historically would become the surname of the son.


Thousands of Years of Bad Parenting Advice

Colonial America

Victorian England

Soviet Union, orphans

Soviet Union, families

September 23, 2014
by Creed

Baby Junk, pt. 3 – Mittens

Baby mittens were one of the strangest things I had to wrap my mind around when I first became a new parent. Throughout the entirety of my life, mittens were reserved exclusively for cold weather nerds and simpletons who where not cool enough for fingered gloves and not hardcore enough to handle the cold. Mittens were isolated into a niche demographic occupied by small, usually frail girly boys named Simon, Stewart, Marvin, or Napoleon. In this vein, it was reasonable to understand why mittens were grouped into the same nomenclature as litten or kitten; because they were archaic and fuzzy pseudo-gloves worn only by the weak.

baby mittens

Simon Birch; the original nerdy, small kid of my childhood. Shown here probably wearing mittens.

Baby mittens, however, are designed to prevent your newborn baby from scratching their plush and fragile skin with the tiny knives they wield on their fingertips. It’s true that baby fingernails are nothing short of miniature razorblades protruding haphazardly from the tiny phalanges of your mini wolverine. Because of these claws that babies develop on their fingers early on, some genius out there conceptualized cute little mittens to protect the baby from harming itself.

baby mittens

If these tiny mittens look useless to you, then you’re right. Well done.

While in theory it is a good idea, baby mittens are impossible to keep on a baby hand. Newborns and infants have the motor skills of a drunk Michael J. Fox and unless you’re keen on cinching the cuff tightly around your child’s little wrist thus compromising his circulation, the mittens will not stay put. Moreover, as your infant grows they will quickly learn how to intentionally spurn the mittens, at which point their finger knives will be directed at you, the mitten dictator. It is amazing how quickly an infant can slice a sizeable chunk out of even the most calloused adult skin.

baby mittens

No mitten can contain this reality. Focus your efforts elsewhere.

What most new parents will learn after a short 6 or 8 months is that infants are daredevils with reckless abandon. The baby mittens in comparison are like trying to put a band-aid on a buckshot wound. Infants, as they become mobile, face household obstacles far more dangerous than the jagged little bayonets they carry on their fingers. Do yourself a favor by remaining diligent over the length of your child’s nails and focus your energy on how you intend to rescue him when he wedges himself between the wall and the washing machine. Save yourself the $3.99 and buy a 40oz. Old English instead. At least a hearty helping of malt liquor will numb the pain when little Napoleon takes his next swipe at your face.

Part 1: The Crib

Part 2: The Diaper Bag

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