Memories Are For LADIES

Trust me, this is related
This is related.  Trust me

If you ever wanted a viewpoint as to how different the sexes are, read the following:

“Baby L is now Little L.  Rolling progressed into crawling that has now become wild running.  Receiving blankets are no longer a staple for going out, but good shoes definitely are…

I guess I have some “big feelings” that I’m not sure what to do with, either.  :/ And though I love entering this new season, full of life and laughter and learning, I am admittedly a little sentimental about how short the last one turned out to be.  The sleepless nights were hard, as were the clingy days, but how quickly the rain and the haze have brought forth the flowers’ bloom.”  

“Justice, when did you write this?”  I don’t think so, jack.

I will grant you that yes:

  • this is truly poetic
  • only someone who has truly mastered the prose art form could write it

but no:

  • this was not written by anyone with testosterone
  • this was *definitely* never written by any man who has ever fathered a child.

I will grant you that reading those words touched me (or would have if I were not hard as a diamond and cold as steel), but not because of some wispy, flowery nostalgia for the “good days” of the first two months of my daughter’s life.  No I am touched because this article indicates that my wife has suffered short term memory loss.   Show of hands, dads…who out there actually wishes they could go *back* to the days of their child being 1 or 2 months old?  No no, not you with the tiny dog in the stroller walking down Davie Street.  That is not a baby, and you are not its father.  Put your hand down.

Let me tell you as the half of the greatest marriage in North American history that actually *remembers* what those first months of my daughter’s life were like, I do not miss them at all.  The only thing I can tell you is that my daughter is fortunate that she has a superhuman for a father, because a lesser man would have faked his death and ran out of town after the first 6 weeks.  But no, for the sake of his family, yours truly managed to keep it together despite replacing his traditional workout routine of 17 thousand bicep curls with a “routine” – if you could call it that – of:

  1. walking around in a circle with my daughter for 4 hours at a time to put her to sleep
  2. sitting down and realizing in the dead of night that since she was in my lap and I couldn’t wake her, the only thing I could do was stare into space.  
  3. Play a funny game with myself I liked to call “have 5 minutes passed or 5 hours?” every 5 minutes (or was it five hours?)
  4. passing my daughter to my wife so she could have her turn at this for a couple of hours (except with added nursing)
  5. lay down in bed, pray for death

Repeat every day.  Forget about the gym.  When you are doing this grind for months at a time, just being able to look yourself in the mirror without bursting into rugged, hyper-masculine tears is a gigantic accomplishment.

You might think that a man who spends all of his waking hours staring into space and mentally rattling off the names of all the Generation 1 Transformers (in catalog order*) to keep himself sane does not have a ton of time available for the gym.   You would be correct.  In fact I had no time for the gym.  For months.  And it was in this sorry (yet still handsome) state, looking in the mirror four months later, that everything began to change.  But that is a story for:

Next time: probably *not* the continuation of this story!!  But it’s coming!  Take a look at this heartbreakingly pretty face instead to pass your time…


Not yours truly, but *even better*
Not yours truly, but *even better*

* what did I tell you?

A Dramatic Segue Into Unstoppable Fatherhood

I recently read an article from a long-time admirer of mine talking about some gaga he called reflective parenting.  Listen, I like Phil.  He means well.  He cleans up okay, he’s married to an Asian wife like another person I know and respect immensely, and he’s not a bad writer.  But I stopped reading this article the moment I got to

“Look, I’m not trying to claim I’m the world’s greatest dad. But I was given a coffee mug with that claim by my kids. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m pretty sure they did a quantitative exhaustive analysis of all da”  FULL STOP.

Listen.   You don’t need me to tell you that Justice Adam Gray is the greatest father on the planet; you already know that.  *I* already know that!   Do you think I need my daughter to verify that?  I tell *her* that.  Every day.  That’s called confidence.

Thereby, I can *also* tell you that any article that dares to claim otherwise automatically invalidates every other claim it has ever made on every single post ever written.  Now, if Phil had written a post saying, “Justice Gray is the best daddy around and I wish he was old enough to be *my* daddy!!” I could’ve gotten behind that.  Really, if you read between the lines that *is* what his post is saying, but I digress because we have things to talk about here that *don’t* involve Phil Haack for once.  And they are about how you can be half the dad I am…less than that if you are female though.

What in the world does this have to do with getting ripped and tearing apart a fully grown horse with your bare hands?  Well, not much…to the untrained eye.  But bear with me, this will all unfold into a rich tapestry* before you know it.

To set this up, I’d like to present you with something a fatherhood expert wrote on my wife’s blog about fourteen months ago, after the 19th comment thread about how to nurse.    As a bonus, you get to see pictures of one of only two people on the planet who are considered better-looking than the author!

“All Right, Enough of This Estrogen Fest”

By Justice A. Gray

Finally.  After all the “skin to skin”, “what’s my milk production like” and whatever other lady part-related stuff had been going on here, this is Baby L’s dad here in a guest post to talk about how my daughter is growing up to be a REAL MAN.  So proud!!  In addition to hating shopping almost as much as her father, she is also trying to emulate many of the other ways in which his masculinity is UNCHAINED…but in a feminine way.


This photo occurred after I came home from the gym and told my daughter that her father busted out 20 chinups in a row.  As you can tell by the positioning of her hands my daughter obviously was ready to bust out a set of her own.  What enthusiasm!!  It would have brought a tear to my eye if I was capable of crying, but I can’t.  Apparently according to “Baby’s Best Chance” Baby L cannot either, another way she is just like her dad. 

Anyway, I’m nothing if not a responsible parent so I explained to her that she was a bit too young to actually do chinups, and that we’d revisit this in a year or two.


Awwww.   But note the complete lack of tears.  My little lady has gigantic cojones!!  Metaphorical ones of course.

I then walked off for a couple of minutes to prepare for my shower.  I have a pretty elaborate ritual for showering:

a) take off my shirt

b) do my best Frank Zane behind the back bicep pose in front of the mirror

c) (optionally) take off the rest of my clothes

d) shower

Imagine my surprise however when after step b), I looked over to see this happy little face!!


So if you’re one of the many ladies (or gents, I know you’re out there) wearing a frilly pink dress while reading this blog you’re probably thinking I made up this entire story just as an excuse to post pictures of my daughter.  First of all, I’d like to stress that this story in its entirety is true, Mrs L can verify.  Second, allow me to explain fatherhood from a man’s perspective – no bastion of testosterone ever posts albums upon albums of his child no matter how cute they might be (“ooooo yes you *are* Baby L!!  Yes *you are*!!  Daddy loves ya!!”).    That is what wives are for.

Here are the three points of this post:

a) my daughter is not only an aspiring lifter like her dad

b) my daughter obviously has an eye for burgeoning bodybuilding talent

c) most importantly I did twenty chin-ups in a row yesterday.

Thank you for your time,

A Mastodon”

Next: The tapestry unfolds!

* rich