The last post was all about sleep-deprived new moms and authors. Now Miss Crankypants is hearing from the dads, who all want equal griping time. “How can I hear the game,” one guy writes, “with that screamin’ kid drowning out the announcer?”
Miss Cranky should give that guy a big fat wedgie or ship him off to outer Mongolia. Instead she gives him THE LOOK and growls, “Keep that up, mister, and I’ll be boarding the entrance to the man-cave for the foreseeable future.”
Properly chastised, he dons his favorite old tee shirt for the young ‘un to spit up on.
But Miss CP already has her dander up! Dads are clueless! Just because moms have certain body parts that feed the child THEY BOTH created, dads seem to believe it’s their duty to stand out in the garage all day and night, to make sure nobody tries to steal anything.
Newsflash, Daddio: God did not invent fathers merely to watch the “Deadliest Catch” on TV! Guys were not invented to stand by helplessly while Mom walks the floor for hours with Junior crying bloody murder. You boys are supposed to rescue the fair maiden–yes, the one with dark circles under her eyes. What is it about new dads that makes them believe newborns are made out of cheap plastic?
Miss Cranky is here to tell you that as far as she knows, not a single baby has ever disintegrated because his father was holding him. But from the panicked look on most dads’ faces, you’d think the kid was in danger of folding like a cheap lawn chair.
So man up, Papa. Put down those pork rinds and pick up the pacifier. If you can tear apart a car engine and put it back together, surely you can soothe your namesake for a few minutes. Trust Miss CP–doing so will earn you the brownie points you crave. If you fathers out there will pitch in when the screeching gets loud, you might get Miss Crankypants to unboard the entrance to the man cave. In the mean time, Daddy, here’s a burp rag and a fresh diaper. You’ll need them.