We learn we are going to be moms by peeing on a stick. Truth be told, about a week or two into motherhood and that seems like quite possibly the most appropriate introduction to being a mom that one could imagine. Dads learn they are going to be dads whenever they are told. Maybe you are there starting at the stick with her trying to figure out what the two lines mean. Maybe you get into a fight over leaving your bath towel on the floor that’s really quite clearly not about leaving your bath towel on the floor and surprise you’re having a baby. Truth be told, this is also a very fitting introduction as well.

After we find out we are pregnant we then have 9 months to prepare ourselves. Our bodies do most of the work for us. Our stomachs become “bellies”. We cry because we’re out of mustard. We wake up every three hours to pee and have become proficient in navigating the house in complete darkness at 2 am. These are the beginnings of motherhood.

Dads, you guys don’t very much preparation at all. Your wife gets over the top hormonal. Her belly enters the room 4 feet before she does. You have all this furniture and baby gadgets to put together. But generally speaking, you go from semi normalcy to watching a tiny human come out of a part of your wife that previously had a very different purpose to you. Or, you might have watched your wife be cut open, her insides put in a bowl, and a tiny human be pulled out of her. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve pushed two out myself and dads definitely have it easy here. But to be fair, we don’t always acknowledge that you are thrown into the hurricane of parenting with little to no prep.

You go from enjoying just about anything you want: sports games to late night dinners out in town to time with your wife…to standing in Walmart at 10 pm staring at breast pumps. There’s no transition. One day you’re picking out a Harley and the next, you’re in a gas station parking lot wiping poop out of a car seat that your 4 month old blew out their diaper in. Let’s just be authentic here, okay?

While women are primed into motherhood in all sorts of ways, one of the things I have noticed is that men tumble into fatherhood in part, with their love for their partners and baby but also, and mainly, their inner 6 year old.

Because lets be honest here, most guys don’t really care what a placenta is, how a breast pump works, or what color the nursery is. But if we care, you care. And if we need help, you’ll put that damn breast pump together and read through the directions while we stare at it in terror. You do it because you love us and you love your baby.

But when that baby starts to crawl and pull himself up onto things and become this adorable teeny terrorist and mom months into little to no sleep, the dad’s inner 6 year old shines.

No, I am not being a smart ass.

This is hands down one of my favorite parts of watching dads be dads.

Like when I have been up for weeks on end with the baby and it’s late and I just can’t seem to make him happy. Trevor will take him all off a sudden there’s 18 lbs of pure baby chunk shaking it to Areosmith, gasping between giggles.

And just like the many moms at Crossfit Temecula, the dads are part of our village.

When all the babies are crying in the strollers and car seats while their moms are trying to workout and a Mario lies down in front of them making funny faces.

Or when a toddler is hollering and busting out of their stroller so Nick takes them and pushes them in huge loop de loops around the gym until they’re snorting they’re so happy and terrified at the same time.

Or when Alan is sword fighting with PVCs.

Or Greg is messing around with a few of the older kids, chasing them up the ropes.

Here’s to all the dads that roll with the punches, lead their home with their heart, and take care of their village. Even if that means making babies dance.

 

 

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