Monday, November 2, 2009
Lets face it guys, as fathers (especially new ones) there isn’t a lot out there in the way of info for us. If you don’t believe me just go to your local bookstore for proof. You’ll find a whole slew of parenting books and magazines geared towards women, and if your lucky you might find a couple of poorly written books at the bottom of the pile for men. It’s a vicious dichotomy. On one hand we have society and the media at large telling us we need to be more engaged in our children’s lives, and on the other hand they fail to give us the tools needed.
That’s why we here at Pater’s Potpourri have dedicated ourselves to bridging the gap. We promise to give you our unbiased opinions on products from diapers to dolls. So without further adieu we give you our first product review featuring,
I’ll have to admit I was disinclined to use this thing at first. I kept having visions of yuppie scum (latte in one hand, iphone in other, Nordic baby precariously dangling in front) at the mall. And there is nothing that gets my blue-collar blood boiling faster than fucking yuppies with their bourgeois mentality. Not to mention, I thought the fucking thing look pretty dangerous and effeminate at the same time. As far as I was concerned, it was the femme fatale of baby gear. I wasn’t gonna be caught dead in one of those contraptions. But after much prodding from my baby’s mama (and I mean days), I reluctantly let her strap me in.
I felt like I was getting ready to jump out of a plane. Or go rock climbing. It was all straps and buckles. We inserted the baby and I looked in the mirror. I looked like Master Blaster from Beyond Thunderdome, with my hulking frame. I gave it a practice run around the living room, clutching my daughter tightly. I was certain the straps would fail at any second and send my baby plummeting to the earth, but nothing happened. In fact, it was the exact opposite. My daughter was securely in place and immensely enjoying it. After a few minutes all my insecurities abated. Hell, I even started to think the Bjorn accentuated my pectorals, making them look bigger and fuller. There was no denying it, I was a sexy beast!
Long story short, I fucking love this thing and find myself looking for excuses to put it on. It came at the perfect time, when my daughter was no longer content to sit in her carrier as we perused the produce section of our local grocery store. Now when we’re out and about, at the first sign of fussiness I buckle her in, and she’s thrilled with her newly found bird’s eye view of the world. So, in my book the Baby Bjorn carrier gets 5 out of 5 beers (now if they’d only make something for my latte and iphone)!