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True Confessions of a Stay at Home Dad
In May of 2011, I dismissed class for the last time and began a new chapter in my life, full-time dad. I taught middle school for seven years, but with two kids and a third on the way, I wasn't able to give as much time to teaching as it required, plus I wanted to spend more time with my own kids, instead of someone else's.

My wife and I have been married for nine years. She spends her days (and some nights and weekends) as an OB/GYN, or as my kids like to call it, “catching babies.”

We have three kids. First Born is eight years old, but likes to pretend she’s in college. Our son, Middle Man is five, but we’re convinced by the way he talks about things like “beautiful sunsets” that he’s an old soul, and our youngest, the Blonde Bomber is only three, but already has the attitude of a teenager.

Our kids provide us with an endless amount of stories. Writing and retelling these stories for Indy’s Child has been my part-time job for the past three years.

You can contact me on Facebook at True Confessions of a Stay at Home Dad or via email at indyschildpete@gmail.com.

Eventually, Every Dad is a Doofus Dad

Eventually, Every Dad is a Doofus Dad

March 05, 2014 | 12:50 PM

Sometimes I'm a complete doofus of a dad. The extreme doofus type of dad that's usually reserved for TV commercials and sitcoms. I try my best not to fall into the stereotype, but every once in a while it's inevitable.

The other day I was getting our kids ready to go swimming at the community center. As I gathered up suits and towels, I realized I wasn't sure which suit actually fit my youngest daughter. I noticed several swimsuits that had potential to fit her, two of them didn't even have traditional sizes (like 2T, 3T etc.) listed, they said numbers like 80 and 110 instead. Suddenly it felt like a Goldilocks story, I knew one was too small, one was too big and one was just right. After a series of picture texts of different suits to my wife, she figured out for me the correct suit that would fit my daughter. That was doofus strike one.

Once we made it to the indoor pool (with correct swimsuits in hand) I wasn't unable to put my two-year-old's swimsuit on her. I'm not sure if anyone else has had this problem, but I know it's not the first time I've struggled with this. It seems simple, a one-piece swimsuit with straps crossed at the back. But here's the problem, I could never get it on her correctly. The straps were never where they were supposed to be after I pulled it up from her feet and the suit wasn't stretchy enough to force the straps in the correct position over her head, believe me, I tried. Finally, after four attempts, my oldest daughter came into the locker room to see what was taking so long and put it on her the correct way, the first time. Must be a girl thing.

Doofus strike two.

While we were swimming, I noticed my daughter's diaper getting larger and larger by the minute. Unknowingly, I put a pull-up diaper on her instead of a swim diaper. So after only twenty minutes in the pool, she looked like a member of the Kardashian family, her rear end was twice the size of the rest of her body. The diaper slowly continued to expand over the course of an hour. Our adventure ended when the diaper finally exploded into a million little gel bits on the locker room floor.

Strike three. Doofus dad is out!


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