For nine months, my biggest frustration was the continual stream of advice from friends, family members, and random streetwalkers.

“You think you're sleep deprived now? Just wait.”

“Enjoy it while you can. You’ll be lucky to get a kiss once you have a baby."

"You’ll never forget the first time you get pooped on.”

“You’re going to know every word of Frozen…and like it.”

But despite all that uplifting, invaluable wisdom, everyone I knew failed to reveal the hardest aspect of being a daddy. So let me share it with you now, should you ever decide to dive headfirst into the maelstrom that is parenthood:

Scheduling.

Yes, scheduling. Such an innocent little word, calling to mind images of multi-colored day planners, calendars, and post-its. How then, can such a fundamental aspect of American life turn into such a nightmare when an 8 lb 3.4oz variable is thrown into the equation? Here, let me show you…

Phone call to work before I had a baby:

“Hey, the city is doing some stupid construction outside so I’m going to be a little late.”

“Okay.”

Phone call to work with a two-month-old:

“Hey, I’m in a bit of an interesting situation.”

“…okay?”

“Well, I have Avery, which is fine, but…I can’t get out of my driveway.”

“…okay?”

“Apparently the city is laying down asphalt so I’m stuck and my wife took my truck to work because she wouldn’t be back by the time I had to be at work so I was going to take Avery to work with me until she could pick her up *gasp* but then she thought she could get off early and be home before I left but someone showed up for her class and now she has to stay so my only options are to have her leave early so I can take to truck to work *gasp* or someone from work has to come get me and transfer my carseat base to their car but that won’t work because then how would my wife get Avery back home if she didn’t have the carseat?"

”…what?“

I.had.no.clue. Literally. Most days I was lucky to make it to work at all. One minute I would be sleeping, the next I was sucked into a whirlwind of cries, bottles, and diapers (even on mornings when I didn’t have to take care of Avery), and then I would stumble into the clinic looking like Keanu Reeves in every movie ever.

And you know the scariest part? Avery was still travel-sized. A cute little carry-on with a "this side up” sticker on one end and a “fragile” sticker on the other. What would happen when she, you know, started doing things? How long before I needed a real-life Mary Poppins to tell me whether she was at basketball practice or wandering into oncoming traffic?

More importantly, how would I ever balance my schedule with not one, but TWO kids, which had always been the plan? I know plenty of you are laughing at me right now because you’ve raised enough children to make your own basketball team, but as my brother once cautioned, “Think hard before having more than two, because then you’re outnumbered.”

So as my wife took Avery to her first round of shots (weighing-in at 11 lbs 15 oz and measuring 23.5 inches, which was 85th percentile for height, but who’s counting?), and I stumbled into work ten minutes late, I couldn’t help thinking that my schedule was full enough with one little angel, at least for now. After all, Harry Potter was an only child, and he took down Voldemort, right?