Are Realistic Dinosaur Pajamas Too Much to Ask?

Sometimes when I dress the baby, I choose clothes I know my two-year-old will like.

That means dinosaurs. Lots and lots of dinosaurs.

My son loves it when I bring his baby brother out in something covered with cute pictures of ancient murder beasts.

I blame Don Bluth. Ever since we first watched The Land Before Time, the only movies we get to see anymore must have dinosaurs.

The kid's obsessed.

And he can school most adults in paleontology. Most days, he'll tell you his favorite dinosaur is Brachiosaurus. He won't go to sleep at night without his stuffed Tyrannosaurus rex. And he can make a seriously legit Spinosaurus out of Play-Doh.

The only thing he doesn't know about dinosaurs is not to look so happy with a Spinosaurus in the room.

But for all he knows about dinosaurs, my son still can't identify some species on his little brother's pajamas.

I'll give him a break, though; they didn't exactly make it easy. Like, what the Cretaceous is this thing?

Or this thing?

I want to believe that last one is some kind of Saurolophus, but I don't have enough faith in the clothing designers to think it's actually anything more than a huggy T. rex with an overbite and tumors on its back.

And really, did an Apatosaurus and a Stegosaurus have a baby, or something?

What is going on?

I probably shouldn't care so much, but my child expects me to have answers. If I can't tell him what kind of dinosaur is on his brother's pajamas, he might not come to me with the important questions later.

These adorable, irresponsible designs make me look inept in front of my toddler. Are realistic dinosaur pajamas too much to ask?

My son watches Thomas the Tank Engine. I'm sure he can handle an accurate scene of Jurassic carnage printed on pajamas.

But then . . . there is Carnotaurus. . . .

Latin for "Holy snowballs, I've soiled myself."
Image credit: Primal Carnage Wiki

On second thought, cute is nice. I'll go with cute.

What I Love About Childbirth

In case it wasn't obvious, I haven't posted in a while. I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing, but it'll likely take some time.

In other words, I can't promise frequent blog posts right away. I will try, though.

But I owe it to you at least to share a little bit of what's been keeping me so busy.

So, this happened:

Babies = busy.

But we adore this little guy. To everyone's surprise, we ended up going with something normal and named him Andrew. Not even I saw that one coming. But hey, maybe next time I'll get my little Azog?  

I'm kidding, dear. When you reach for that kitchen knife, I'm kidding. 

Anyway, minus the extreme pain and discomfort for my wife, and the drive to the hospital, and waiting all night for anything to happen, and the feeling, as a man, of being utterly, utterly useless, I love childbirth. I've witnessed it three times now, and I'm always awestruck by the magic of the moment.

I've watched a person come into the world.

And my wife is so dang awesome. She just brought a person into the world. I can't even do that with a d20 of Summoning. 

Though it inevitably happens by the time the little person turns two.
Image credit: Meme Generator

It's all I can do to keep my head from exploding when the nurse first puts that tiny baby in my arms. Once I build myself back up from the initial cuteness overload, my erratic internal dialogue goes something like this:

Hello there, little person! Welcome to your life! 

I'm Dad and I'll be your guide on this adventure. Man, I can't wait to give you chocolate! It will blow your mind. 

And there are so many other things I'm excited to show you! Like, we've got this thing called music here. We're going to listen to so much of it! 

And then there's pizza. Oh my goodness, pizza. You will thank me.

Ooh, the doctor was from Houston. The first hands that touched you were Texan hands! I'll have to take you to Texas sometime, too. But not Houston. Noooo, not Houston.

So, I didn't print a syllabus or anything, but we've got a lot to cover later on. You'll learn how to walk, and use a spoon, and poop in a toilet. Trust me, those are all important things. We can't skip them.

Gosh, I love you so much!

And now your mother wants you. Okay, baby, have fun! We'll cuddle again soon!

Seriously, I love being a dad. My boys are my whole world.

And every time another one is born, that moment when Heaven touches Earth gives me the chance to really think and ask myself how I am doing as a father, as a husband, as a man.

That moment, when I first hold my newborn child, always makes me want to be a better version of myself.

In that moment I promise my baby I will never let him down.

I promise him I will always be there.

That we'll read books together, play catch in the backyard, go swimming in the summer.

I promise him the world, and everything I am.

I promise him I'll exercise and eat more healthy foods, so he will never have to worry about losing me.

I promise him a happy home where he can always feel safe.

And as much as I can try, I inevitably fall short on most the promises I make.

That's part of being human.

But when I stand in that delivery room, I make those promises again.

That's the other thing I love about childbirth: the way it makes me want to be a better man.

And maybe it's a subtle difference. Maybe no one else can see it through my poop-stained shirt and five-day stubble.

But I wouldn't be the man I am if it weren't for my rowdy, wonderful boys. I wouldn't trade them for the world.

Even if it means I have to set aside my writing.

So, I'll try to keep the blog updated. But in case I don't, you'll know where I am.

Here's a funny video about childbirth: