Mr. Moms Or Good Dads?

Throwback Thursday Dadding Depressed style with this classic one.

dadding depressed

The 1983 film,Mr. Mom made it a little more okay to be a stay-at-home dad for parents of the 80’s. Still, it’s remarkable how idiotic they managed to portray the diaper-duty-dad, Jack, played by Michael Keaton. At one point, the washer machine was going rogue, the stove was on fire, the baby was eating chili, and the vacuum (named Jaws) was trying to eat the middle child. The movie resounds with the stigmatization that men are inept in the home and that elements of the professional world do not transfer into the realm of child-rearing.

Such stigma propelled by blockbusters like Mr. Mom, Three Men & A Baby, and Junior creates an unfortunate barrier between men and home-life. Even in more recent representations of patriarchs like in Modern Family or Family Guy, the father figures are portrayed as basically incompetent, funny as they are. Consistently, men are…

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Pick Up The Phone

Throwback Thursday Presents!

dadding depressed

Have a phonebia? When did the phone get to be so scary? Smartphones seem to be used more for hiding than for actual human contact. 

I’ve been really bad at getting back to people lately. Really bad. Calling, texting, pigeon mail. All of it. Bad. A reason could very well be that I am navigating the unknown territory of fatherhood. I think that’s just an excuse.

A Shallow Many For Depth In Few

There was a time in life when I was well connected. I had thousands of Facebook friends. I had few actual friends. Almost none, honestly. There was no friend, circle, or community with whom I lived life portraying mutual honesty and transparency. Every acquaintance knew the facade I had built better than they knew me. So I burned out from the thousands-of-friends plan and chose instead to focus on a few.

I became highly intentional with calling, hanging out…

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Are You Man Enough?

Throwback Thursday Presents “Are You Man Enough?” A fresh look at true manliness.

dadding depressed

My son is a beast. He came claws first from my wife, digging his nails on the mattress of the delivery bed, and snarling a roar at the nurses. He was born 9lb 1oz, trailed by an amazing six pound placenta that had a mind of its own, and I think got shipped to the circus. After swelling for eight months, he’s now in the clothes of a preteen, and has more rolls than a Cinnabon franchise.

My wife’s family ogled (as they’d never seen a descendent of the BFG before) while my family was concerned he might be unhealthily small. The Mainses are no strangers to giant babies. My mother delivered me at 9lb 11oz as I clawed and roared through a plan B delivery. I was so stocky they thought I’d be a football player, but when I turned two, I started slimming like Stretch Armstrong between a couple of kids…

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Old Lovers

Here’s another poem from my personal site.

D. Doug Mains / Freelance Writer

Walking home a lonely man,

I saw old lovers holding hands.

She a queen and he a sage,

Still swung her door in his old age.

I took this in with eager eyes

For love oft’ hides with gray-haired wise.

A gift — a treasure — I’d come across;

A youthful joy for years of loss,

Refreshing light from a world unknown,

And a fruitful harvest from seeds well sown.

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When Anxiety Greets You In The Morning

I thought I’d take this opportunity to share a poem that I wrote and published on my personal blog. Give it a read!

D. Doug Mains / Freelance Writer

When anxiety greets you in the morning

And plagues your waking minute with its chill;

When it rules o’er you in daytime

Scratching every worry with its quill;

When it dines with you at dinner

And ensures you lack your fill;

Breathe deep.

And when it whispers lies of lacking

To argue gift and every skill;

When it threatens tales of doom to follow

Any action, want, or will;

When it thrusts you into madness

Then reels your soul with fleeting thrill;

Breathe deep.

When it makes a mountain in your head

Out of a petty hill;

When it pledges to not ever leave you

And you fear it never will;

When in the reins of anxiety

You’ll know not freedom ’til





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Yes, Dads, Your Baby Is A Human

Here’s one of the first pieces I wrote for Dadding Depressed, and it contains a solid reminder as we enter into the holiday season.

dadding depressed

If dadding were a college, I’d be the freshest freshman; the wide-eyed, panicked kid dropped off at the curb wondering if I should race back home or not. And like most college freshmen, I am awkward, lost, oblivious, and always unsure what exactly is driving me to drink (just kidding…but maybe not).

When my eight-month-old son cries in public, I shrink in awkwardness while darting my cringing face back and forth to see who’s judging me. When my wife is asking me to grab the Boopy or the Boppy or the whatever-baby-contraption-that-people-tell-us-we-absolutely-need-to-successfully-raise-a-child, I’m lost. And when it comes to raising a baby that will someday be a child and then a teenager and then a man, I feel pretty oblivious…and that’s when I grab a beer (just kidding…but maybe not).


Sitting in the delivery room at the hospital, holding my screaming wife’s hand, and before the angels…

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