The Balancing Act

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We’re still in the process of adjusting to 2 kids. Baby Rangirl- my hope is that we didn’t mess you up in the head due to either complete negligence or over-compensation in the attention department. As you read this blog in the future from some jail cell awaiting the jury’s verdict for attempted murder on my life, remember one thing: we tried. 

For example, embarrassing you as payback for disturbing my sleep is actually a healthy sign of love and great parenting. It’s all the rage back here in 2015…snapping pics of you in your most vulnerable state only means I want the best for my Baby Rangirl.


In trying to balance 2 kids who equally need our attention, we even made conscious efforts to spend full days with you whilst your grandmother watched Baby Ranboy. Consider that before trying to push us down the stairs in our old age. 


Did you end up snapping because I forced you into doing chores before reaching four years on this green earth? Well in order to keep the earth green, daddy’s lawn needs manicuring. 


You can’t honestly be mad for Mommy Ranman and I taking hours-off-at-a-time to do date nights without you and your brother…we need a break too.  

It’s hard trying to predict exactly why you hate us in the future. My official guess is because we grounded you from dating boys through your teenage years. Knowing the dudes I did growing up- boys suck in general. So go do your homework. And ignore the double standards when I let your baby bro talk to the ladies as young as 9 years of age. 

Stats so far

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Whilst Baby Rangirl continues to amaze at the random crap she retains, Baby Ranboy continues to fill in the memories of what it’s like to get used to a new baby:

Mommy Ranman IM’d me-
“We have:

11.8 lbs

23.5 inches

75th percentile for height;

90th for weight

60th for head”

 Daddy Ranman: any of that too much according to the doctor? 

Mommy Ranman: Nope, the doc said Baby Ranboy is perfect

Daddy Ranman: and that’s a good weight, too?

Mommy Ranman: She said it’s fine. Keep feeding him on demand

Daddy Ranman: cool. and what of his…member? is that in the 90th percentile?

I didn’t hear from the Mrs. again on that IM thread. Let’s hope you’re equipped to handle the world, little dude. Gotham needs you. 

When the Bass Drops

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Mommy Ranman: The site says if Baby Ranboy’s testicles don’t drop in 6 months, we’ll need to have that taken care of

Me: well I’ll be

Mommy Ranman: so when you change his diapers again, I’ll need you to check if they’ve dropped

Me: how can I tell? Is it like when the beat/bass drops in a song?

Mommy Ranman: ugh no. Feel for 2…

Me: but he’s all testicles…I can’t tell unless I’m grabbing both mine and his at the same time for comparison…and that my friend, is plain odd

Mommy Ranman: but you have–you’re–ugh, just- you’re helpless

Me: I ain’t helpful

Party on when the bass drops, little dude.  

A Daddy’s Rant Is Never Done

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Am I the only dad whose foot always finds the 1 toy or end of the kid furniture each time? From Baby Rangirl’s stray Lego to Baby Ranboy’s bassinet cramping my bedroom- each item seems to increase in pointy texture and discoverability once my toe comes within striking distance. 

I see it now – Baby Ranboy’s challenge. “Mess with me and I’ll make your life rough…when I figure I’ve been messed with.” 

(Note Baby Rangirl’s toy on the floor in the background waiting for my right foot to get home.) 

On top of that, I’m changing my own clothes as often as this little guy- it seems like I get the same amount of spit on me as he does on himself. Who’s the baby in this relationship?

Gangster by nature. 


What else is working against you, Daddy Ranman
 you ask? Timing. I have no problem with a baby crying every 3 hours for a bottle and diaper change. 

He barely sleeps for long stretches. 

The second kid is waking up every 2 hours herself.

If I were to do the math we’re getting…35 minutes of sleep? 2 seconds? Okay I’m the one Indian that sucks at math but I do know sleep escapes us by a lot of hours. 

And why does he get to sleep on his own time?

2 kids aren’t so bad, we expected this of course. But Baby Rangirl- you know what you do. You be playing on this “first child syndrome” where you steal each parent’s chunk of time in order to get ice cream. 

You kids will kill me sooner than my next  drink. 

Bosom Buddies 

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It’s rough for a dad watching the struggles of breast feeding; you sit back with nothing to help alleviate the discomfort and on-demand supply. But that’s not why I’m jealous. Bond all you want with the kid-

But man do I wish I had functional boobs.

Baby Ranboy, like most boys who have yet to see a woman turn around,  is a boob man. He falls asleep in an instant on Mommy Ranman’s newly-filled bosoms but complains to no end when he lays on mine. And functionality? 

Mommy Ranman is dropping weight like crazy delivering the milk- all without doing a single sit-up or lap around the block. I’d love to sit back and watch the body get tight. 
Without a boob to stand on, I gotta work doubly hard to ward off the dad bod. 

It’s been only one time so far where this sucker finally gave up the mommy dependency and passed out on my boney ribs. Here’s the week in review:


Let’s also continue the rant on how this dude is still peeing all over the place. He actually shot from BOTH ends at simultaneously when I was changing a diaper. Don’t trust the calm before the storm.   

Meanwhile, Baby Rangirl is off making friends at the park and bringing home all sorts of sickness, currently on cold #8 of the year…

    Baby Ranboy is sneezing enough to get a rectal temperature check (sorry buddy) while Baby Rangirl is throwing up enough to get a machine attached to her at the doctor-


You kids are as much work as you are awesome with your colds and flying poop.


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Well Baby Rangirl, you’re a big sister. Baby Ranboy, chances are you’re reading this over the shoulder of your sibling thinking “heck yea- now this blog will pick up in its importance!” 

Slow your roll, boy. You gotta crawl before you can walk- and man is it going to be a slow crawl for us. 

First off, you dropped in at slightly over 8lbs- you know what that did to your mother? Poor woman needed hard pills in order to sit comfortably for more than 1 hour straight. And dude, you have not stopped eating since.  

Secondly. The poop. More food = more poop. 

Although to be fair I kinda botched your second shot at a bowel movement. 

“Ugh, I think I see poop in there,” I told your mother. 

“Already? Kid is barely a few hours old!”

“Um wait. My bad. Those are just his balls.”

Yea, sorry Baby Ranboy. Your man sack was so disproportionately bigger than your body- and significantly darker, too. Is that still a problem for you in the future? Hope you grew into everything okay. 

And lastly- the pee. Your mother and I have never dealt with a free willy that goes off at anytime like your own. You’ve peed on yourself at least 4 times in 3 days when changing your diaper. I had a way easier time with your sister, and that’s without owning lady parts of my own. 

This all on top of having Baby Rangirl question every last thing from mummy’s breastpumping to the freckle on her toe just to wrestle attention away from her little brother. I wonder what a therapist runs in cost these days. 

 Some pics from the past few days:

Baby Rangirl claiming every inch of the hospital room with The Little Mermaid playing on an iPad on my lap, to owning Mommy Ranman’s bed. Oh, Baby Ranboy gets his first Internet appearance. Let’s hope the distance between the two in this pic isn’t a sign of foreshadowing. 

I’m getting ready for birth with my Batman superhero socks. Because you know, it’s all about my courage when Baby Ranboy gets here. 

Mommy Ranman checking out the whopper she just crapped out. Poor kid will always be referred to as a “#2” in all jokes ever. 

This was the towel spread on the car seat before Mommy Ranman was allowed to get in whilst in labor. Brave piece of linen. 


Diva in Training 

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I’m not a dad who supports the idea of premonitions and predicting the future. But dammit WordPress is on point with its app:


My attempt to upload a pic of Baby Rangirl trying on a million pairs of shoes at the store is just a look into a hellish future of failed dreams to own a closet free from shoes that aren’t mine. 

You know Baby Rangirl, it was a nightmare trying to get you to commit to 1 pair of shoes. If it were up to you we’d get every Disney themed pair. If it were up to your mom and the cat you’d have your own wing in the house for shoes which she built off of the insurance money from my untimely-yet-convenient death. 

Look at her. All comfy living off the land.  

Look at her co conspirator…cleaning herself off my mat, wearing no pants around the house like she owns the place. 


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