I am, essentially, no different than any of you. Most of you, anyhow. Some of you. I am no different than at least a handful of you. You—that is, the one person that I am not any different from—you understand what I'm talking about. Or perhaps I have overestimated your number.

By means of that accomplishment we universally celebrate with a high five, I am a father twice over. Two girls, codenames: Starkweather and Grey. (In an astounding coincidence, that's the name of my wife's blog; read it in good health or die trying.) Prior to parenthood, I didn't "get" children. Now, I am legally responsible for their health and well-being. This is the equivalent of not having ever eaten cilantro one day, and then starting the single largest cilantro-growing operation in the Western hemisphere the next. Difference being, cilantro will never vomit/urinate/defecate/drool all over your shirt, and if you attempt to put children in your tacos, you will get the death penalty.

There's a term circulating in the cultural zeitgeist—mommyblogger—which, on a good day, makes me want to gag myself with a pistol in hopes that the retching causes my finger to reflexively pull the trigger. Not that mommyblearrrrgh—ahem, mommyblahoooooghhh... not that m-wording is essentially bad: being a mom is probably the single most difficult thing I can imagine, and no matter how much love and support and organic baby food they get, tiny humans still don't come with warranties or factory reset buttons. Or Bluetooth. Yet.

So it makes total sense that moms would blog about being a mom: the trials and tribulations, the milestones and hallmarks, the fifty-seven trillionth recipe for some twee baked good. We get it. They look delicious. Please stop. If anything, this is a better thing that any of us realized: passively crowdsourcing the parenting experience, so moms with common interests and experiences can collaborate without ever having to see one another, hopefully refining the parenting product.

That's cool. I am not going to do that.

I am going to talk about other stuff. The itchy sweater stuff. How much plumbing do I need to know to survive? (More than you think.) When can I find time to watch TV? (Time? [hysterical laughter, abruptly transitioning into hysterical crying].) Diapers? Really? (Yeah, really. Diapers.) Is Caybell a bad name for a kid? (It's a bad name for margarine.)

That's this blog. You're reading it already. And you love it.