I do it because I enjoy my job, because I am building a career, because I am the primary earner…because I want to and need to. All the right reasons, right?

On top of that, I’m a dad. My kids are my world, and each new milestone in their lives is a source of joy for me. I potty trained Ben, I rock my daughter to sleep each evening, I grab Alex and sit him down to watch soccer with me ( Go Fire!)… when my kids have a need and I can help with it, I do my best to help.

I want to be a parent that other parents recognize as a real parent. It pains me to think that because I work so much other parents assume that I’m not involved in my kids’ lives. I tried to volunteer at Ben’s school but was quickly dismissed because I couldn’t meet at 9:30am on a Thursday. It’s hilarious — at work, people ask me about parenting stuff all the time. Many of my coworkers are starting to have kids now and they are amazed that I already have three, so they ask what carseats to look at (Britax) or how much time to take off when baby comes ( as much time as you can possibly manage! ). But at Ben’s school and in the neighborhood it seems the playing field is dominated by professional parents. You know the kind: not just a stay-home parent, but someone who literally critiques their own performance as a parent, like their entire self-worth is derived from making everything perfect for their kids. The kind that’s shocked when I give my kid a packet of manufactured crackers and not the whole grain ones that I ground myself, with a custom mill I made with Swedish imported wood, from fresh grain I grew in my own field, and then baked with solar power in the Eco-friendly hearth in the backyard. THOSE. Not the cheez-its. So it seems that the two are somehow mutually exclusive, and that makes me sad.

I may not be able to swing by and have midmorning tea, but I still want to help out and meet other parents and use my talents to make things better however I can. At least, I did. Now I just kinda feel unwanted.

What do you think? Should working parents get to help out at schools? Should we just stick our noses back into our work?

Oh, and should we give a flying shit who Tiger Woods slept with on a given day?

Well, we quadrupled that shit, baby.

We've done all of it: new jobs, losing jobs, quitting crappy jobs, getting promoted, having kids, having kids scare the hell out of us by needing! brain! surgery!, staying up all night because the kids don't sleep, sensory issues, preschool selection, the Nut Ban Defection (or is that defecation? ), Joey The Mean Hamster, Oak-No-Park, Sunny San Carlos, and that's just the big events.

On the smaller days, you picked me up when I felt low and you gave me a kick in the ass, well, perhaps one or two times more than was strictly necessary, but still -- the important times, your foot was there. You stood your ground and made me admit that maybe I was sad not because the world was out to get me but because I had dug a cave and was hiding in it instead of reaching for what I wanted.

People say that getting married is just the beginning. Well, they're right. Even with all that we've done and been through, there's so much left to do and so many times we can call each other poo-nozzles and fartheads and whatever else passes for terms of endearment in our house. All I know is, when I think of tomorrow or the next day or the next year or the next 10 years, it's always in relation to what we'll be doing -- you and me, together.

I wouldn't want it any other way.

Pooper-face-head.

Pacify Me, on the other hand, gives you a good old-fashioned buddy heads-up. Here's a beer: muscle relaxant. It's going to feel a bit like your molecules have been shifted through space; you'll get through it. Now, Have some peanuts. Ready?

Ready....maybe just one more pint?

Throughout the book, Chris touches on the twists and turns that make it tricky to take on that Dad title, like how everyone has advice for you which you must find a nice way to blatantly ignore; how your social life will change (though not totally evaporate, unless you want it to); how to handle the fact that your wife has become at least one, but possibly two or three different people; what to do when your baby screams at you ( hungry? diaper? just crabby? accidentally saw "Daisy of Love"? ); how many things people will try to sell you in order to make you a better parent (answer: how many will you buy?); how much easier it is to *actually* play with your kids than it is to *imagine* playing with them beforehand; how your kids are the best captive audience you'll ever have...

I really, really wish I'd had this book when I became a dad. I would have laughed a lot more, and laughing at yourself trying to raise kids is probably the healthiest, most effective solution of all.

So, whether you're a new dad or an old one, you'll find a good laugh and lots of comfort in Pacify Me. Pick it up at the publisher's site or at Amazon. They even have a Kindle version.

So I popped it open* to find a single sheet of paper: a ransom note! It said, "Becky, here's that copy of my book you said you wanted to read. Enjoy!" And then, underneath it, a top-secret new device for subtle influence of people! A....what was it called? A B-O-O-K. I was hoping for a Melt-O-Mind 3000, but this'll do, I suppose.

And then I realized I wasn't the only man in her life. She had other male friends. Heartbreaking. And this man had children, too. And he wrote about being a Dad, and how it scared the hell out of him at first. Kinda like me! Wait a second, I needed to read this book -- no guys out there had the balls to write about something so gentle and scary as being a new Dad --feeling worried about fatherhood was for girls, right?

...uh, right?

Well, the truth is, we guys have just as much, if not more, anxiety about what it'll be like to have a kid of our own, and the "what to expect" books give us a footnote: Don't worry if your husband is quietly freaking the f*** out; this is normal and will pass soon. We hope. Now, on to lactation!...

So I did what any dad who never had such a book would do: I snitched it and started reading it on my commute.

...to be continued...

* actually, Becky had already opened it, but that little fact just sucks storytelling-wise, so we'll just keep it in our back pockets, shall we? Shhhhh.

If he were just being "bad", it'd be one thing. He's not destroying things, or abusing the animals, or breaking his siblings' toys; he's not taking the car for joyrides or inviting hookers from Craigslist over for a midnight snack ( and let's be clear, if he DID invite a hooker over it would actually be for a midnight snack -- cookies, maybe some Sprite... ). He's pulling the Diet-Coke-of-Evil stuff: sneaking extra video-game time, conveniently 'forgetting' that he wasn't supposed to go to the bratty girl down the street's house without asking first, stubbornly refusing to do anything at all if he doesn't get to do whatever his first choice is...

I'm running low on patience here. I don't think taking stuff away is working, and talking about it doesn't seem to stick. I'm thinking gypsies, or maybe a shock collar. And whiskey ( for me, not him).

That is, if I don't crumble to dust first.

It's a little strange to type it: I have a daughter.

I've had boys for what seems like ages now, so I know what it is to be a father and all that, but - and maybe this is a cliche - it seems a little different to have a daughter. I wonder if she'll be rough and tumble like her nearest brother, or carefully analytical and yet totally impulsive like her oldest brother. Or, more likely, she'll be something entirely different.

All I know, as she sleeps in her hospital crib next to her mother, is that she's mine, and I'm so glad she's here.

Welcome, Amelia Grace.

Did we need new phones? No. But these little things are just way too cool to miss out on.

Since last weekend was spent Takin' Care of Business, I never went in to rent a suit. Becks didn't buy a dress either. We need to be on a train in three hours if we want to go, and we've been leaning toward just staying home, but y'know, this only happens once a year...we've just gotta go.

So. In standard Dave&Becky fashion, we have launched a Grand Plan: We begged Grandma to come over and watch the baby ( to be fair, she sounded more excited than put out by this prospect), and are just about to head out to the mall to buy a suit for me and then run back to get cleaned up and changed and head to the train. It's an hour and a half on the weekend train. We'll arrive in the city 45 minutes early, so we'll grab a bite to eat, then head over to the party.

We'll be there for about two hours, then turn around and catch the next (90-minute) train back home.

It's a sign of parental insanity: I'm actually thrilled to be running my ass off, traveling 3 hours round-trip and spending cash to buy a suit last-minute just to spend two freaking hours at a company christmas party.

The things we do for grown-up time....