Closer Than They Appear

reflections from life as a dad


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Episode Eight: Bjorn, Baby Bjorn.

Once when I was wearing our son in the baby bjorn, I guess I was standing a certain way and my wife looked at me and laughed. “You look like Zach Galfianciakshdies” she said, which was funny because she didn’t know his last name.

But it was also funny because I don’t have a beard. I hardly ever wear sunglasses. And I have yet to be described as “portly,” so it’s not like the physical description was apt. The entire comparison was based around one criterion: the baby bjorn.

the-hangover-baby

I believe that the baby bjorn has become the symbol of the modern dad. If you google image search Baby Bjorn, the first image is of a dad…not a mom, but a dad. Second image is a couple and guess who is wearing the bjorn? The dad. It isn’t until the 4th image, from the official baby bjorn website, that you see a mom wearing one.

The bjorn is our interpretation of mom jeans, our calling card, our way of broadcasting out into the world, “I am Dad, hear me roar.”

Listen to the full story by clicking play.

Here’s the Atlantic article I mentioned in this episode, Dads Caring for Their Kids: It’s Parenting, not Babysitting.

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Episode Six: Bread

One morning this summer we woke up to feed Jonas, and we finally got him back to sleep around 4:30am. I had set my alarm for 5:15 because I wanted to go for a swim in the bay, so I figured what the hell, that’s only 45 minutes from now, I may as well stay up.

I read a magazine profile to kill some time and the next thing I knew, it was 5:20, and I had to get going. I needed to be home by 8am, so I timed out the morning perfectly. Leave the house at 5:30, get to Aquatic Park around 5:55, change into my wetsuit, jump in just as the sun was making its grand entry into the day, swim my two miles in the bay, get out, change, and be home by 7:45, which built in a 15 minute buffer for the unknowns like traffic, wetsuit mishaps, and finding the right filter on instagram for my obligatory photo of the sun rising over the San Francisco bay.

I grabbed a banana from the kitchen and went down to the garage to get my swim stuff. I rounded up my wetsuit, my towel, and my two swim caps, which is standard for cold water swimming. Even the brave souls who swim in the bay without a wetsuit wear two swim caps, to protect them from the ice cream headaches.

But I couldn’t find my goggles. I tore through the garage, to no avail. I hustled upstairs and looked through my gym stuff there. No goggles.

Listen to the fully story by clicking play.