36 Weeks Pregnant – The Baby Shower

36 Weeks Pregnant – The Baby Shower

As the birth of our first child fast approaches, we knew it was time to get as much free shit as possible celebrate with our loved ones by holding a baby shower.

bad ass dad baby showerI like big blocks and I cannot lie.

My wife decided that she didn’t want a traditional gathering with a bunch of chicks sitting around eating candy bars out of diapers and trying to guess who farted. We both agreed that a co-ed, outdoor gathering that barely resembled a baby shower would be the most fun for our guests and over the quickest for us. Not to say that we aren’t social, but rather to say that I am not social. Parties were fun until I quit drinking a decade ago and realized that parties are torture and why can’t I be at a party where there are no other people. Because I don’t like parties, on the rare occasion that I throw one, I do my best to make them painless for my guests. I want them to be casual in attire, dining, and length of attendance. So basically you can wear what you want, have a variety of simple foods, and stay for as long or short of a time as suits you. Picnic in the park was the perfect answer.

While my wife’s friends jumped on board to assist, I decided to do the bulk of the planning myself. It’s not that I wanted to, but I consider throwing a party a task akin to wiping my ass. In a perfect world someone else would do it for me, but I’d always fear that the result wasn’t going to be up to my standards. That’s not a knock on anyone else. I just know that when I wipe, I wipe 100% clean. So you know I don’t throw a shitty party.

That said, the ladies stepped up when it came to food, decor, and baby laundry.

baby shower food

baby shower cupcakes

baby shower decor

We had a pretty nice spread of homemade food to go with the pro chef I brought in to grill up burgers and hot dogs. There was so much food left over that I sent tons home with people and still donated a huge amount to an Overeater’s Anonymous meeting or something. They’re big on potato salad.

In maintaining my rule of casualness, we didn’t want to force people to play too many organized games. On the other hand we did want to incorporate some forced fun which came with prizes for the champions.

baby shower diaper raffleA diaper raffle where one person won a great prize pack
and we got 6 months worth of free diapers.
That’s what I call a win-win for me and my bank account!

baby shower gameWe offered a gift card to the winner of the Make-A-Baby competition.
The only awkward moment was the couple that saw the sign
but didn’t notice the Play-Doh. They put on a good show though!

Our final two games did actually require group participation. One was a child abuse game where everyone threw a baby doll at a random person and that person had to painfully scream out something baby related. If you screamed out something that another participant had already screamed out then you got sent to foster care and were out of the game. Eventually it was down to just two people punting the plastic infant at each other and screaming out baby related words until my wife’s Aunt was declared the world champion of throwing babies at other people and won a fabulous prize.

The other game, the one I found most entertaining, was what we cleverly titled “The Lisa/Frank Game” because those are our names. Everyone stood in front of us and we’d read off an entry from a list of questions. If you thought the answer was “Lisa”, you went and stood on her side. If you thought the answer was “Frank”, you stood on mine. Anyone standing on the wrong side of the line for that particular question was eliminated. Ultimately, the winner was someone who had never met me and didn’t necessarily know Lisa as well as some of her friends/family did. Just goes to show you that people are terrible at games. Anyway, below are the questions we asked without the answers. If you’d like to play, just copy and paste them into a comment either here or on Facebook with your guesses. If you get enough correct you might win a prize or get nothing. You’ll have to play to find out.

Who had ice cream for breakfast this morning?

Who wakes up earlier?

Which one of them learned to knit as a child?

Who swore the baby was going to be a girl?

Who is more obsessed with their hair?

Who leaves love notes all over house?

Who got their first tattoo at the youngest age?

Who chose our sons name?

Who farts more?

Who has had surgery?

Who made Skittle soup as a kid?

Who slaves away over a hot stove all day so there is dinner on the table every night?

Who meditates every day?

Who’s favorite candy is Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups?

Who hogs the sheets?

Who was the master decorator of Four’s (our son) room?

Who is in charge of the remote?

Whose car is messier?

Who’s more scared about having a baby?

In the end, the baby shower turned out to be relatively painless and a lot of fun. As an adult you spend less and less time with your friends and more time caught up in your own lives, careers, kids, and activities. It’s nice to get together with everyone before your baby is born and starts sucking up all of your time like it’s breast milk and your life is a giant nipple.

bad ass dad baby shower

The most important thing to remember about having a baby shower is to get more in gifts than you spend on the shower appreciate the people that love you and will be part of your new child’s life.

A big thank you to all of our family and friends who came by to celebrate the most important occasion of our lives. We truly appreciate each and every one of you and can’t wait for our son to meet the people we care about most. And for him to shit in all of the diapers you bought us.

34 Weeks Pregnant – The Babymoon

34 Weeks Pregnant – The Babymoon

When I first posted on Facebook that my wife and I were taking off on our “babymoon”, one of my friends commented, “At every guys request, please don’t perpetuate the ‘babymoon'”. I can only assume that he was lamenting being forced to take his baby-mama on a vacation prior to her giving birth, which I completely understand. Taking your wife on vacation certainly should be the exception rather than the rule. I mean, it costs at least twice as much as going by yourself, you have to compromise on where to eat, and they usually expect at least one “romantic” moment to happen which you have to orchestrate to look like it happened spontaneously because you’re “so in love”.

That said, when I planned my trip to Hawaii, leaving my wife at home barely crossed my mind. I mean, who was going to carry my luggage if not my wife? Plus, when you travel with a pregnant chick people are super nice to you. They smile at you creepily, offer you places to sit, and usher you to the front of the line (which is infinitely better than being Chris Brown’d to get you back in line). It really made the trip extra special and there is a reasonable chance I will bring my wife on all future babymoons. That said, let me tell you a little about it.

My wife and I have taken to staying outside of the typical tourist areas during our travels so I booked three unique looking places via AirBnb.com. Having never been to Hawaii, and no familiarity with any particular parts of it, we rolled the dice on our 12 night trip with 5 on Maui, 2 on Molokai, and 5 back on Maui in another spot.

PHASE 1 – Maui (Kula)

Kula is located in what’s referred to as “Upcountry” on Maui which is a fancy way of saying, “far as shit from the beach”. Believe it or not, proximity to the ocean wasn’t part of our criteria for this trip. I know, most people go to Hawaii to sit on the beach all day but that’s not our style. While I enjoy the ocean view and spending an hour or two on the sand, after that I’m ready to go do something. Lisa is even worse than me. After 10 minutes of sitting still she’s all, “How much loooooooonger?” So rather than orchestrating a shark attack on her person, I simply keep her entertained inland. The place we stayed was a little cottage with an incredible view where we resided for 5 day including Christmas.

Frank Prather Bad Ass DadThat’s me on a deck. That’s a tangerine on me. That’s our cottage on the hill.

Kula, Maui viewThat’s the view of the ocean from our cottage.

Bad Ass DadThis is us trying to time a selfie.

Bad Ass DadThis is me wondering how my wife got so huge.

Bad Ass DadThis is us finally getting our shit together for the picture.

Because I don’t want to turn this into a travel guide book, I’m just going to throw out a couple of highlights from each phase of our trip. The most convenient thing about Kula is that it’s really close to the entrance of Haleakala National Park. This is a popular spot to drive to the top of the 10,000 foot volcano peak and watch the sunrise. They tell you to get up early so you don’t miss it, and to dress warm because it’s cold. What they mean by that is “get up in the middle of the night” and “doesn’t matter what you wear, you’re going to freeze to death.” But hey, you’re going to have an epic picture of a sunrise which will get you so many Instagram likes that your life will suddenly have meaning.

kulafrozenTropical island my balls.

kulasunriseClouds. Craters. Sunrise. That’s a wrap. Back in the car.

The other thing about Kula, that we discovered accidentally, is that it turned out to be the start of the most epically beautiful drive we have ever taken. And for those who are familiar with Maui no, it was not the Hana Hwy aka “Road To Hana”. Well, not exactly. Most people make that drive from Paia down to Hana town which is about 45 miles of mildly scenic road. Along this route are a bunch of suggested stops where you and 659498375 other people try to jam your cars into zero parking spots so you can hike in a take pictures of x/y/z. We drove it. It was unimpressive. However, if you drive to Hana from Kula, your going to have eyegasms at the sheer beauty of everything you see the entire way. Plus, you can pull off anywhere you want, don’t have to hike, and will see about 5 cars on the road over the hours long drive. It’s so epic that we did it twice.

Road to HanaIf I were roadkill I’d want to be dead on this road.

Frank Prather HawaiiHello Hawaiians, I am your new king. Congrats!

Bad Ass DadLisa is in such good shape because I “allow” her to run alongside the car.
You’re welcome, dear!

Bad Ass Dad waterfall2 mile hike uphill (ish) to get to this waterfall.
My wife, 7 months pregnant, basically ran it.
She > you.

You’re now approximately 1/3 of the way through this blog. Click the “MORE” link below to see the rest. Don’t worry, it’s mostly pictures so you don’t have to strain your weak brain by actually reading.

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29 Weeks Pregnant – 2014 Year In Review

29 Weeks Pregnant – 2014 Year In Review

2014 can be summed up by one word—awesome. I was awesome when it started. I maintained a consistent level of awesomeness throughout. And I’m just as, if not more, awesome here at the end of the year. Oh, and some awesome things happened which I will list below for your awesomely envious pleasure.

JANUARY
I woke up in one of my favorite places in the world, Key West, and remembered that I’d gotten engaged. After a failed attempt at swimming to Cuba to live a comfortably single life brushing Castro’s beard, I resigned myself to marrying this stunner. So I guess 2014 actually started off pretty good.

Bad Ass Dad engaged

FEBRUARY
Nothing happened to me directly this month unless you consider that my mom was born in February and without her there’s no me. The world has her to thank, or blame, for my existence. I suggest you send her a gift card or something nice from the SkyMall catalogue.

Frank Prather and Mom

MARCH
I reached my 2 year anniversary as head of casting and talent at a company where I am able to contribute to the enrichment of the American cultural landscape by putting people on reality TV.  Plus I’m fortunate to be able to work with a group of people who are family oriented, creative, intelligent, and whose sense of humor rivals the pure evil of my own.
Oh, and I completed my 2nd Tough Mudder which was fun in the sense that submerging your testicles in ice water is fun.  It also produced an extremely rare photo of my hair not looking perfect.

Tough Mudder 2014

APRIL
This month I celebrated 9 years of sobriety by not blacking out and drunk dialing everyone in my phone, instead replacing that activity with my third Spartan Race for the year.

Bad Ass Dad

Spartan Race 2014 Bad Ass Dad

JUNE
June was the trifecta of happenings so incomprehensibly amazing that this month may trump all months lived by all other human beings in the history of months or human beings.

I impregnated my fiance.
My dad got married for the 3rd and theoretically final time.
I had lunch with Morris Day.

*Drops mic on life*

Bad Ass Dad

Bad Ass Dad

Morris Day and The Time

I won’t say which was the biggest news of June but that’s Morris Day of The Time!
With me!
At P.F. Changs!

JULY
After I quit drinking 9 years ago I ran out of things to write about. In July, because I am god and have created life, I launched this new blog called Bad Ass Dad so that you could worship me for being so powerful and also a brilliant writer. You’re welcome.

Bad Ass Dad sonogram

AUGUST
I turned 44 which I think we can all agree is a miracle. Not because I reached this age but because I look so goddamn good.

Frank Prather

OCTOBER
Married my pregnant fiancé in Las Vegas. Happiest day of my wife.
Also felt my baby kick for the first time.

Bad Ass Dad - Frank Prather

NOVEMBER
On my 2nd birthday I was given a Snoopy signed by many of my relatives. To this day it remains one of my most cherished keepsakes and Snoopy remains one of my favorite cartoon characters. In November I bought my unborn son his first Snoopy and it almost made me cry. It didn’t, because I’m not a little bitch, but it almost did. Whatever. I’ll fucking punch you in your mouth. Shut up.

snoopy

DECEMBER
In an effort to finish the year strong I completed my 6th Spartan Race which earned me a double trifecta for 2014. For those who don’t do Spartan Races that won’t mean anything to you but it will when the machines rise because you’ll be the first to die.

 Frank Prather

At the end of each year, many people are glad it’s over and look to the coming year in the hope that it will be better. I am not one of those people. 2014 may very well have been the best year of my life. I didn’t get rich. I didn’t get famous. I certainly didn’t get any younger or taller. But the entire year was a series of great experiences, personal accomplishments, and time spent with people that I love. If 2015 turns out to be half as good as 2014, my life will continue to be happy and fulfilling. But, with my first born child due in February, it’s not looking to be half as good.

It’s looking to be twice as good.

My next blog post won’t be until January but if you’re itching to keep up with me go see a doctor about that itch. Also, follow me on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook so you can be super jealous of my holiday adventure.

22 Weeks Pregnant – Hi, My Name Is…

22 Weeks Pregnant – Hi, My Name Is…

And so God (me) created man (my son) in his (my) image and thus (not sure what “thus” means) also needed to bestow upon him a name (nom du plume) commensurate with the greatness he shall inherit (perfect hair) that is my exceptional genetic makeup (minus that unnecessary height gene)

As was my father, and his father before him, but not his father’s father before that, I submit to you the name of my first born, my progeny, heir to the throne…

FRANKLIN NATHANIEL PRATHER 

THE FOURTH!

4winning

That’s right muthabeetches, the Fourth! Did you for one second think my ego would allow for my son to be named for anyone or anything other than me? Besides, after giving him life, I had to think of a way to top that most glorious gift. I racked (wracked? cuz inside out is wiggety wiggety wiggety wack?) my brain for endless seconds before what I already knew occurred to me. What could possibly be more amazing, more incredibly generous, more unfathomably valuable than granting someone the opportunity to exist? Of course! It’s the opportunity to be ME!

Unbeknownst to some, I am Franklin Nathaniel Prather the 3rd, named after the guy below who’s not wearing the douchebag knock-off Affliction-style shirt.

Frank Prather and dad

I know that most people don’t continue the lineage of names when labeling their baby but, let’s be honest, I’m better than most people at being a person. And, when FNP4 is older he can change it if he wants…to be disowned, cut out of my will, and possibly disappear (although it will look like an accident). In the meantime, Lisa and I have dubbed him “Four” which is what he will be called from this day fourward (get it? FOURward? Oh, is he in for a parenting treat or what!)

When you hand down your name it’s necessary to nickname the subsequent you in order to avoid confusion. For example, my dad was called “Frankie J” by many, because he was a junior and that differentiated him from his father. I was, and continue to be, “Frankie” to pretty much everyone in my life that I met before age 25 and “Frank” to all others. There was some discussion about what to call our boy prior to agreeing on “Four”, which ultimately won out over Franklin The Magnificent, Lil’ BAF, Count Frankula, and my personal favorite, Prince.

Coming up with a baby name is a major decision that will stay with your child for their entire life, particularly if they’re named after you. Depending how things unfold, that name can turn out to be a blessing or a curse. I was proud to be named after my dad, and I’m proud to name my son after me. My sole purpose in life from here forward is to make Four proud to be named after me.

In closing, I just want to express a few final thoughts straight from my heart (I have one):

To my wife, you’re welcome for me impregnating you with another me.

Bad Ass Dad 22 weeks pregnant

To my unborn son, you’re welcome for getting to be another me.

Bad Ass Dad father and son

To the world, you’re welcome for another generation of me.

Frank Prather Bad Ass Dad

To me, I love you most of all. Me is the best thing to ever happen to me.

Frank Prather

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If you’re not following me on Instagram  and Twitter then you’re not truly living.
IG: @FrankPrather
Twitter: @BadAssFrank

20 – 21 Weeks Pregnant – Gender Reveal

20 – 21 Weeks Pregnant – Gender Reveal

So, if you buy a girl something or tell her a bunch of lies to get her to like you then she might let you put what you have inside what she has for like 2 minutes and then you have to pay child support. The alternative is to marry the girl and instead of alimony and child support they call it “raising a family”, the only difference being that you can’t date and the girl is mad at you most of the time.

And that kids, is how babies are made.

boyorgirl

With the miracle of childbirth still being months away, there’s only so many baby oriented happenings to write about. Hence, I sometimes have to keep some of the major milestones close to the vest in order to release them over time. The initial birth announcement is obviously the first, and most major news to break, so after that it’s an effort to find things that are a “big deal”. Because it’s me, and everything I do is in incredibly interesting, that’s not as difficult as it is for most, but even I struggle from time to time. In this particular instance, however, it’s pretty easy because finding out if someone is having a girl or a boy is epic news. People have been asking me for weeks and I’ve been telling almost everyone that we don’t know yet, which was a complete and utter lie. We’ve known for well over a month but decided to hold off until after our wedding. Not because we didn’t want the news to overshadow our nuptials, but because we’d scheduled a gender reveal photo shoot for the day after our wedding. I mean, we’re a gorgeous couple so why would we torture you by not letting you look at us when we reveal the dominant chromosome in our child?

Please note that I do not speak for my wife when I speak of our collective beauty because she is, how you say, humble. I, on the other hand, am, how you say, awesome. 

Anyway, Lisa and I had decided that we’d hold off until after the wedding (and corresponding photo shoot) to reveal the gender to the general public. Just prior to that, our family and closest friends would get the news at the rehearsal dinner. I’ll go into detail about that next week in my wedding recap post but know that the announcement got both cheers and tears because I know how to work a motherfucking crowd.

There have been a lot of predictions as to the gender, although it seems that most lean heavily toward it being a girl. Part of that I believe is simple psychology. Babies are small, fragile, beautiful, mostly hairless, and cry a shit ton, so ascribing the feminine gender to them seems natural. The other aspect of the heavily female leaning guesses were people hoping that fate would spite me. I’m not sure why, although it appears that some people have the misconception that I have a “past” with women that warrants me being tortured by having a daughter that will grow up to date guys “like me”. What those people fail to realize is that there are no guys like me because I am perfect. More importantly, the one thing they don’t know about me is that

Bad Ass Dad Gender Reveal

WE’RE HAVING A BOY!

So, to all of you who “wished” a girl on me as if “god” or karma was going to spite me, suck it.

I win.

Truth be told, I’d have been happy with a boy or girl because I’m looking forward to being a good dad regardless of gender. It didn’t matter to me if I was going to paint the nursery pink or blue, play with G.I. Joe’s or baby dolls, drive them to MMA classes or female MMA classes, I’m all in. Granted, there are a great many reasons I’m thrilled that it’s a boy that I’ll write about in a future post but for now suffice to say I can’t wait to be a dad and I’m counting the minutes until I meet my little boy.

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A special thanks to our good friend Leyna Ambron of Yellow Heart Photography for another amazing photo shoot.
She captures amazing images of all types but specializes in family, maternity, baby and other shoots that revolve around love.
Check out her work at the links below:
YellowHeartPhotography.com
YHP on Facebook
YHP on Instagram

19 Weeks Pregnant – Ya Feel Me

19 Weeks Pregnant – Ya Feel Me

The moment your wife/fiancé/girlfriend/neighbor/pizza delivery girl tells you that she’s pregnant with your baby gives you that intense “Shit just got real” feeling. Later, when you see the first ultrasound of the alien-like creature that will become your child, you realize that shit wasn’t really real before but, now that you can see a picture of it, shit just got real. A few months after that, when your female baby host walks out of the bathroom looking like she just swallowed a watermelon whole, it’s like the realness you felt before was so not real and suddenly shit is the realest that real has ever been.

But all of that realness wasn’t really real. Shit didn’t get real. You might think it got real, but it didn’t. Because no matter what she said, or what you saw on an ultrasound, or how monstrous her belly appears, it’s all conceptual. Then one night you’re laying in bed, resting your hand on what you thought was a one of those giant exercise balls, and you feel a tap against your palm.

Bad Ass Dad Belly

“Did you feel that?” she asks excitedly.

“Feel what?” you reply dumb-assedly.

“The baby kicked,” she says, leaving out the “you idiot” part.

You’re too stunned to believe that the tap was what she claims it was until it happens a second time. Then a third. Now your jaw is on the floor and your eyes are wide as saucers because your unborn child has just reached out and touched your hand for the first time.

And that, my friends, is when shit gets real.

Bad Ass Dad Ultrasound

Lisa started trying to tell me that she could feel the baby kicking about 6 months before she got pregnant. Every twitch or gas bubble or eyelash that floated down and landed on her stomach was, “I CAN FEEL THE BABY MOVING!” Like a dutiful significant other should, I mostly ignored her. But eventually I succumbed to her insanity and started placing my hand upon her ample stomach, pretending to concentrate really hard on feeling for movement while I watched Blacklist out of the corner of my eye. Every so often she’d look at me questioningly, as if she just felt something and wanted to know if I did as well. I learned to feign a disappointed look and shake my head sadly. Truth be told, I didn’t expect to feel anything for a few more weeks and her claims that she could seemed a little “girl who cried wolf” to me. So the night that it actually happened I hit more of a state of shock than I did when she told me that she was pregnant.

The first little poke was gentle. So much so that I thought I might have imagined it. Then a second one came and I knew something was going on but I’m not sure that I was completely convinced. The third one was so strong that it felt like someone flicked me in the middle of my hand and I couldn’t think straight. I started grinning so hard I felt like my face would burst while I simultaneously struggled to fight back tears. Lisa was laughing at me and at how powerful the kick/punch/headbutts were from inside of her, although I think part of her joy stemmed from proving that she wasn’t delusional. I was simply astounded.

My child, the actual living being growing inside my fiancé, had made physical contact with me and proven that he/she was real. I can say unequivocally that I was, in that moment, the most amazed that I have ever been in my entire life, and I was reasonably certain that my heart was going to explode. I was so filled with love for both Lisa and our baby that it consumed me in a way I never thought possible. It gave me an entirely new meaning to the word “life”.

The baby went crazy for a few minutes, punching, kicking, throwing elbows, trying for an armbar but ultimately finishing the umbilical cord with a rear naked choke. All while I sat there like a big fucking dummy all smiles and watery eyes and probably lactating nipples, lost in space.

Now her belly gets hand time every night. It also gets some ear time, in case the baby tries to tell me something (my kid is obviously a genius, like daddy, and can already speak). It gets face time, and kiss time, and plenty of conversation time, because that baby in there has something that no human has ever had before in the history of my life.

My undivided attention.

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Follow me on Instagram at frankprather
Follow me on Twitter @badassfrank
Follow me on Facebook at abadassdad

And if you really love me, us, babies, and America, feel free to contribute a huge financial token of your appreciation to our honeymoon/babymoon fund: http://www.honeyfund.com/wedding/lisafrankwedding

18 Weeks Pregnant – Welcome To The Showing

18 Weeks Pregnant – Welcome To The Showing

The answer is, “Your face doesn’t even look pregnant yet, but it’s going to get fat.” 

What is “Things to say when you want your fiancé to stab you”, Alex?

That is correct.

Bad Ass Dad Wife Knife

So, Lisa really started showing this week which one of us is excited about and, spoiler alert, it’s not the one who’s showing. Don’t get me wrong, she’s excited to be 18 weeks pregnant. However, in a perfect world the baby would grow outside of her body, perhaps wrapped in a warm tortilla or on a low simmer in a Crock Pot. After years of working out, Spinning, running Spartan Races, and eating healthy, her stomach was flat as a board. A smooth, supple, 26 year old board that is way too young for me but I can so I do, don’t judge me.

Bad Ass Dad Spartan Chick

Bad Ass Dad Pregnant Belly

When she noticed the first millimeter of baby fat a few weeks ago you’d have thought she woke up looking like the Pillsbury Doughboy. I, on the other hand, being someone who usually notices a change in her body composition at the molecular level, didn’t even flinch. Whereas she was concerned about starting to show and becoming less attractive, I couldn’t wait for her to look like she’d swallowed a Volkswagen whole. I’ve been encouraging her to eat which, for those who know me, goes against the core of my being. It’s no secret. Being in a relationship with me is an eating disorder. Yet these days I find myself asking her, “Do you want ice cream?” and not meaning it as a test to determine if I need a weight clause in our pre-nup.

Bad Ass Dad Wife Cupcake

Look, Lisa is beautiful.

Lisa fit is even more beautiful.

Lisa pregnant is easily the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. 

Bad Ass Dad Wife Eats

The problem is that I’ve been so encouraging about her healthy eating and fitness, which she might describe as emotionally abusive fat shaming, that Lisa feels even the slightest weight gain on her part makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a kebab skewer. What she doesn’t realize is that, much to my own shock and amazement, pregnancy is a game changer. This past week, as her belly expanded like a tin Jiffy Pop pan in fast forward, rather than forwarding her a Craigslist “Roommate Wanted” ad, I fell more deeply in love than I ever have been. Now I’m like a kid with a Chia pet, trying to grow her as quickly as possible. I’ve finally realized what they mean by “pregnancy brain” because I fucking have it. Rather than serving her half an ice cube for dinner I say things like, “You should be eating more,” or “That’s not enough food for you.”

Who am I?

There’s really no denying that an impending baby changes your perspective. It’s not that things that mattered before are less important, just that some other things are now more important. I’m a very particular person and I don’t apologize for liking what I like, or what I consider aesthetically pleasing. I have never been shy about expressing that I find a fit, firm body pleasing to the eye. Health, vitality, and athleticism are attractive to me. But nothing, and I mean nothing, is more attractive, more gorgeous, and more inconceivably stunning to me than the site of my fiancé and her rapidly expanding but-not-expanding-fast-enough-for-me pregnant belly. When we get married in two weeks, and she’s quietly lamenting the way her stomach is testing the structural integrity of her wedding dress, I’ll  be grinning from ear to ear. Because she’ll be looking exactly the way I want her to look, like the mother of our child.

Bad Ass Dad Pregnant Wife

17 Weeks Pregnant – Bachelor Party Baby

17 Weeks Pregnant – Bachelor Party Baby


As my fiancé and I suffer from premature impregnation, we’re already 17 weeks pregnant while our wedding is happening just 3 weeks from now. As such, I had my bachelor party last night and discovered that my baby and I have a lot in common at this stage in our lives. At 17 weeks, according to a pregnancy website, my kid is currently the size of a turnip. In honor of this, I decided to get turnip as well. Now I know the commonly used phrase these days is “turnt up”, but I’d rather cut off my own penis and bake it in a crescent roll than utter that term outside of ridiculing the type of people that use it, of course. Not to mention that “turnt up”, by definition, describes how hard someone parties. At this stage of my life, “turnip” is certainly a more appropriate description of how I throw down. In fact, it might be a little to aggressive to describe my style of partying.

A decade ago my bachelor party would have involved a road trip to Vegas for at least 48 hours of non-stop binge drinking with women who pay their rent in one dollar bills. I would have left behind a chorus of, “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” at virtually every establishment I patronized, and needed to rely on photographic documentation to recall a good 90% of my own actions. When I partied, I did it on an epic level and left an indelible mark on each person, place, and thing I tried to pee on during my blackout.

Today, at age 44, things are slightly different. Rather than going to bed at 6am, I generally wake up around that time, without an alarm. It’s likely because I fall asleep by 10pm most nights without the assistance of so much as a cup of Sleepytime tea to pass out. I haven’t had a sip of alcohol in over 9 years and don’t touch any drug stronger than an Advil. As of this morning, and this isn’t a joke, I stopped using sweetener in my coffee. Next to “Party” in the dictionary is a picture of me with the caption, “Not this guy.” And truth be told, I’m quite content with that. My “FOMO” (Fear Of Missing Out) has been replaced with “FIAS” (Fuck I Am Sleepy).

I used to worry that not partying would make me feel old and boring. Actually, it’s quite the opposite. I feel younger than ever. I eat healthy, exercise,  and enjoy the daylight more than I ever did the nightlife. Don’t get me wrong, I had fun during those years. A lot of fun. An immoral, illegal, would-be-going-to-hell-if-there-was-one-but-I’m-an-Atheist-and-hell-is-pretend amount of fun. I wouldn’t trade those experiences for anything, but I’ve moved on. And not because I’m old or boring, but because that kind of fun got old and boring. Now my fun consists of early morning workouts, Spartan Races, looking death in the eye by riding my Harley in LA traffic, shooting guns, shopping for baby clothes, and binge watching Netflix with Lisa. Truth be told, this is the most alive I’ve ever felt.

That said, on to the sordid details of my insane bachelor “party”.

Although I live 1.5 miles from the beach, I decided to rent a place that was 100 yards from the ocean to hold the shindig. Partially to have a dedicated party pad, and partially because my apartment isn’t quite big enough. My guests were told to arrive around 7pm but I decided to go a few hours early and pre-game. You know, get an early start removing my chain so, upon their arrival, things could already be “off the chain.” On the way to the party palace I stopped by Jamba Juice and got a Protein Berry Workout smoothie, well-blended with an extra scoop of whey. Shit just got real.

Upon my arrival I headed down to the beach to begin documenting the shenanigans. Here I am all hyped up.

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That particular photo above didn’t make the cut because I felt that the silhouette was misleading and made me look pear-shaped, so I tried…

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Here I didn’t sit down because too many people were walking by and I didn’t want to make it obvious that I was taking selfies of my back. I didn’t mind it as much as the previous pear-shaped photo but it looks like I might be about to take a dump, so this didn’t work either.

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Finally I got to this one, which was perfect. I don’t look like a sadly shaped fruit or like I’m dropping a deuce on the sand. However, you can see the tread of my shoe that set my iPhone on to get the correct height for the pic. That’s a problem solved by…

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Instagram! Boom. No shoe tread. Cropped for intimate feel. And filtered to look like an infinitely more beautiful sunset.This glorious shot was posted with the caption, “Thinking about this life I live” to make me look deep and pensive rather than like a guy taking selfies of his own back.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!

The party train has left the station people, hold on. Ok, I admit that this is getting ridiculous. I don’t party. I don’t want to party. I didn’t party. What I did do was spend a fun and relaxing evening with some great friends. I actually did secure the beachfront house on Airbnb but only because I wanted an ocean view and a dining room table big enough to accommodate more people than the one in my apartment can seat.

My LA-OG-BFF, Leyna, got there before anyone else. She was my first real friend on the West Coast. I met her just over a decade ago and we were thick as thieves from day one. Today she remains one of my best friends, closest confidants, personal photographer, and semi-professional team selfie partner.

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Shortly after our Myspace throwback photo shoot, Craig arrived and the three of us adjourned to the patio where Leyna began angrily lecturing the delicious cheese platter.

Bad Ass Dad

Once the cheese had been thoroughly berated, Leyna took a few candid photos of me looking extremely handsome, which is redundant.

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I’m smiling to let the cheese know that everything is going to be okay.

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Explaining that the sun isn’t actually a god, but a big ball of gas, much like me after a cheese platter.

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And finally I stare directly into the sun until that little pussy went and hid below the horizon. I am obviously the lord of all things except for burned out retinas.

Soon the rest of my friends arrived and we got down to the telling of embarrassing stories about me and the eating of food that was not cheese. We’d hired a personal chef who almost killed us with a non-stop barrage of perfectly prepared food, and a massive amount of it at that. He started off with marinated artichokes for each of us as appetizers, followed by a salad. After that were monster steaks (mine was 2lbs!) with baked potatoes as big as a newborn baby, sautéed vegetables, and a dessert that consisted of a fresh baked brownie on top of ice cream on top of a fresh baked brownie.  By the end of dinner everyone’s eyes had glazed over and, for once, I wasn’t the only one ready to go to bed at 9pm.

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From Left to Right: Leyna, Craig’s forehead, Jeff, Robert, James, and Sharon.

Here’s a little rundown of the guest list:

Leyna – My longest term LA friend; an amazing professional photographer (look HERE): and the person responsible for my career in television; knows most of my secrets.
Craig – A multiple Emmy award winning documentary producer; television story producer; my go-to guy for creative collaboration.
Jeff – A former Venice Beach roommate; the officiant at my upcoming wedding; driving alongside me as we both travel the road of marriage and kids simultaneously.
Robert – Owner of The Ave Barbershop in Redondo Beach (look HERE); person who makes my perfect hair look more perfecter; recently had 2nd baby and challenged me to have one.
James – A talented professional screenwriter; one of the funniest people I know; we share a mutual love of Prince; love interest of Sharon.
Sharon – My second longest LA friend; one of the most loyal people I’ve ever known; an advertising executive; knows the rest of my secrets.

After dinner we did what any crazy party people would do, played “Cards Against Humanity” for two hours.

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James gives me a knowing/creepy/pervy wink while Jeff and Robert watch Leyna explain how Craig is cheating.

At that point it was around 11pm and the only thing keeping any of us awake was the cacophony of yawns reverberating off the walls. So, like any gracious host, I looked around at my wonderful friends and gave my speech…

“I’m tired, get out.”

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Finally, in the wee hours of the night (cough*11:42pm*cough), I put on my sleeping spirit hood and pondered my life in the giant all knowing nipple of humanity.

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And with amazing friends, a great family, a perfect bride-to-be, a baby on the way, and glorious adventures ahead, I realized that I need not ask for meaning from the giant nipple because I already had the answer. Life is good. Very, very good.

 

16 Weeks Pregnant – Look Here Kid

16 Weeks Pregnant – Look Here Kid

At 16 weeks my baby now has working eyes so hopefully it can see that the thing he/she’s been sucking on is an umbilical cord and that’s gross so stop.

This also appears to be the week during the pregnancy where my fiancé finally doesn’t try to stab me for, you know, being alive, so that’s been pretty sweet. Actually, I have to give her credit because she’s been well balanced-ish throughout this ordeal er, magical time, in spite of the hormonal roller coaster. Being in a relationship with me is more than enough emotional distress. Adding a pregnancy on top of it is more than anyone should be expected to handle. However, she’s done an excellent job and that will be reflected in her file.

Given that my baby/semi-fetal thing can now see and hear, I find it most important to be a role model that sets a good example for him/her. A major aspect of that involves living the fitness lifestyle that I hope my offspring will embrace. What I’m saying is, being in utero is no excuse for being lazy. I don’t let your mother sit arou—Your mommy chooses to be active so the least you can do is to knock out a few burpees in there every day.

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Selfie from the top of the 30 foot rope climb. Try that hanging from your umbilical cord!

I have always made my own fitness a priority and will strive to instill that same quality in my kid. I’m highly motivated to show him/her how important it is to your health and well-being to maintain an active lifestyle and be a goddamn beast-like monster of athletic intensity. In order to do that, I realize I have to demonstrate not only the benefits, but also how much fun it can be. Why just this past weekend I participated in a Spartan Race where I “ran” 12 miles up hills in the searing heat in my baby’s honor. You’re welcome unborn child. You are very welcome.

Bad Ass Dad Spartan Race

Now, as I sit here writing this, needing dual hip replacements, spinal fusion, knee braces, and re-hydration from nearly dying of heat stroke, I can’t wait to share this same feeling of fun with my child. Yes, I’ll do my part to inspire you with my positive behavior so that you can grow up to ache all the time too. But if you want to know the truth, it’s totally worth it. I’d rather be healthy and athletic with countless aches and pains than to be sedentary and unhealthy with knees that don’t hurt. I’ve abused my body in various ways over the course of my life but at 44 years old I look and feel pretty great in spite of the chronic pain. I know that sounds odd, but I actually embrace the pain. Don’t misunderstand, I’m not a masochist. I don’t enjoy the pain. It’s just a constant reminder to me that I’m busting my ass, same as I did when I was 20, 30, 40, and that I’ll never stop. Truth is, now I don’t just want to stay in shape, I have to, no matter how much it hurts. You think a 5 year old is going to give a shit that I’m 50?

5 year old: Daddy, let’s go play on the monkey bars for like 1,000 hours straight.

Me: Sorry, I can’t. That’s too much for daddy.

5 year old: Fuck you old man! *punches me in the face and knocks me out like I obviously deserve*

So, when I was out running the Spartan Beast in Temecula this past weekend, in 100+ degree weather, with the discs in my lower back radiating pain, my knees feeling like they wanted to explode, and my brain screaming “Stop, it’s too hot out here”, I kept going. I kept going because I like to challenge myself. I kept going because I want to stay young. But most of all I kept going because I have a baby on the way and I want him/her to know that, in spite of being a middle-aged first-time dad, I kept my shit together for them.

When you’re 5 I’ll be 50, but my ass will be at that playground running around until you need a nap, not me.

When you’re 15 I’ll be 60, but when you need to run drills for football, practice wrestling moves, or want to learn to lift weights, I’ll be your training partner.

When you’re 25 I’ll be 70, but when you graduate college, launch your career, get married, or whatever, I’ll be standing there to pat you on the back, not laying on mine.

And if you ever want to go on a hike, or climb a mountain, or run a Spartan Race together, just let me know. Because no matter how old I am, how hard it seems, or how much pain I’m in, I’m training now for the day that you ask, so that my answer can be yes. Will be yes. Has to be yes. I’ll never give up, for the both of us.

Bad Ass Dad > Half Ass Dad 

Bad Ass Dad

15 Weeks Pregnant – Crown To Rump

15 Weeks Pregnant – Crown To Rump

15 Weeks Pregnant!

Every week I’ve been checking my baby’s development on some of the websites that tell you what’s happening at the current stage. Right now, at week 15 of the pregnancy, my child is apparently 4 inches long from “crown to rump”. Who the fuck is monitoring my babies growth,  George RR Martin and my grandmother?  He who wears the crown rules with an iron rump. Let’s just stick with a good old fashioned “head to toe” or “head to butt” if you must. I’m trying to get my mind around this frog looking thing that’s growing inside my fiancé being a kid and referring to it in Granny Of Thrones terms isn’t helping.

All I can think is  "Ribbit. Ribbit."

All I can think is
“Ribbit. Ribbit.”

One site describes it as the size of an apple this week, and the other said a navel orange. They all compare my unborn child to a fruit, so now I have to spend an hour in therapy for every piece of fruit I eat because I have dreams that I’ve cannibalized my baby. Granted, it’s probably a great source of protein but I’d never eat my own baby. Other people’s babies maybe, but only if I was trying to add some lean muscle mass or train for a Spartan Race. I mean geez, I’m not a monster.

It says that the baby is starting to develop taste buds which is only disturbing insomuch as last week I learned it was peeing in the womb then drinking it back in. So basically my baby looks like a citrus fruit-sized frog, drinks it’s own urine, and is acquiring a taste for it. The doctor told us that the baby appears perfectly healthy so the good news is that I’ll probably get rich from the malpractice suit.

“Your honor, he said my baby was perfectly healthy but it looks like an amphibian and drinks it’s own squirt.” 

“I rule in your favor for a billion dollars. Case closed.” 

Although my baby is obviously going to be the lead monster in “Frognado”, at least my fiancé is helping it’s growth and development by inundating it with the soothing sounds of constant gunfire courtesy of her Call Of Duty obsession.

Prenatal vitamins are no match for automatic weapon fire.

Prenatal vitamins are no match for automatic weapon fire.

In other news, I’m getting ready for the Spartan Beast in Temecula next week. 13 miles of brutal hills and obstacles that Lisa opted out of because “she’s pregnant”. Personally, I don’t think it’s too early to introduce our child to exercise and what better way to set a good example than climbing a 30 foot rope over a mud pit with the baby inside you. I mean, I hike 1.5 miles then ran 2 more with a 20lb weight vest today. That’s pretty much exactly like carrying and growing a human being for 36 weeks, right? I’m saying yes.

Welcome to the bb gun show!

Welcome to the bb gun show!

In my defense, it was Lisa’s idea for me to flex in this picture. I swear! My arms are two different sizes and I have my own initials tattooed on one of them. Why would I subject myself to the ridicule?

Oh, and I suppose I have to give her some credit for joining me on the hike, although she didn’t wear a weighted vest?

Hiking Mom

NOTE: Those two weights on her front don’t count. They were already there!

-B.A.D.