for the bros, Broseidons, kings of the brocean.

This is a post for all the dads and dudes out there.  I know you have a dirty little secret.  You read this blog.  (Maybe your wife makes you read it, or reads it aloud to you)  Regardless, I know you are here.  The only reason this blog is still in existence is because my husband- a man now have you- continued to assure me that my blog did not suck.  He even encouraged me to not quit writing, which I consider doing after every birth.

Let’s face it, watching your wife’s body change was just as disturbing and weird to you as it was to her.  And quite frankly there’s no one as intimately acquainted with those saggy boobs as you are (you hope).  I imagine you stealing a glance across the room as you both get ready and frantically thinking “The book wasn’t kidding when it said they would get as large as dinner plates” and other nipple related thoughts.

So anyway, parenthood is weirder than watching jungle mating rituals on the Discovery Planet.  “Oh, polar bears eat their young?  Well, yesterday Baby Monet painted a masterpiece with his own poop using his crib mattress as the canvas.  Not impressed polar bear.”  This journey is ours together- moms and dads.

Give your wife a wink and a peck on the cheek.  Things happened to her.  And wives, give your beau a hardy hand shake because he’s seen things no man should see.


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