Oh the joys when you get an email from the team asking; “Dan we are having a just for moms week can you send us a blog”. Um, how about a “Just for dads week where we discuss the finer points of craft beer each day? Its great nutrition you know!” Alas, no we are having a just for moms week.
Now I had total free reign on what I could randomly ramble on about in this blog, which was rather brave of them all. I thought about doing a review of where to send your wife for the best pedicure in Cape Town but the research budget wasn’t big enough. The best weekend spa retreats a man could send his other half to but again we had budget issues here. So after all of this I settled on the difference between mums and dads, simply because no research budget was required.
Difference 1 – Mums have a torque wrench in their elbow, dads have a mechanical vice grip in theirs.
A torque wrench is a handy tool for doing up wheel nuts as it “clicks out” when the correct pressure is applied and prevents you from exerting any more force. I am convinced that mums have these in their elbows.
Mitch can be crying and screaming and Kim cradles him in her arms with just enough pressure for him to feel loved and secure. Serenity personified. However each time that it’s been me doing the cradling I have noticed that he has grown a bit lengthways and has a bluish tinge to his face. It would appear that each time he screams, I try to cradle him, without realizing that I am in fact squeezing the living daylights out of him.
It is totally bizarre. It doesn’t matter how much he is screaming and cramping Kim’s body will not let her over squeeze him, as her torque wrench seems to kick in. I on the other hand almost squash him while trying to manually give him a six-inch growth spurt.
Difference 2 – Mums can’t sleep, dads can’t wake up.
It’s actually really embarrassing to think of how many times in the last year I have woken up in the morning, rolled over and said “man Mitch had a great night, how awesome was it to get a good nights sleep?” only to be greeted by a blurry eyed monster that mumbles something about three nappy changes, and the party Mitch decided to have at 1am that I seemingly missed out on. “Oh really, ahem, well look at the time even though its 5am I really am late for work, got to dash” exit stage left quickly because you know the madam is not happy.
It really is strange that mums seem to be able to wake up each time their bundle of joy so much as burps on the other side of the house whereas dads would need a nuclear bomb to go off before they even flinched.
Difference 3 – dads know that they’ll catch their kid, mums think dads have the catching ability of a two year old.
Perfect playtime for dads is taking their snot gobbler and throwing them high into the sky and then catching them. Mitch loves it and I have got him up to at least five or six meters at times. The problem is mums don’t tend to like it.
Dads are like “man I’ve been catching high balls while playing rugby and cricket since I was his age”, mums are thinking “our bundle of joy isn’t a cricket ball and I’ve seen how badly you play cricket and rugby Mr. Straw Fingers”.
Difference 4 – mums have support groups and know the mothers of each child of a similar age in the neighbourhood, dads go for less beers with their mates.
It is really amazing. Within about five minutes of Mitch coming home, Kim seemed to know the name of each nanny, child, and mother that was within six months age of him. I can come home and there will be three nannies and children in our back garden and I am thinking “who are you guys, and which ones mine?”
The way that mums are attracted to other mums is amazing and I am sometimes jealous as the support structure that naturally exists is amazing. The total polar opposite of this is dads. We just seem to meet our mates, who are the same ones we’ve had for years, for a beer and when we do, the conversation is muted. “So how’s your boy?” “Yeah all’s good, how’s yours?” “Yeah all’s good, another cold one? And how’s work?”
I’m actually quite jealous of it in a way. But hey as long as I can have a beer from time to time and go “ug” with my caveman mates all’s good. Now if you don’t mind Forries is calling.