“Have you tried warm jammies and being really, really quiet at bed time?”

Someone actually wrote that sentence and truly believed it was helpful.

When you have a baby that won’t sleep and is inconsolable; when you’ve literally tried everything: The Ferber method, Happiest Baby on the Block, swaddled, unswaddled, half swaddled, two swaddles, swaddling yourself, praying, yelling, magic tricks; when you lumber into the family room at 2:30am to watch a bad movie just to get away from the “puppies getting murdered by a chainsaw” screams coming from your baby’s room for five minutes; then going on a forum and seeing “warm jammies and quiet time” is the equivalent of being in a hunting accident, showing up at the hospital and having the doctor say, “I don’t know, have you tried not getting shot?”

I’ve got two kids now: a boy who just turned 3 and a baby girl who’s about to be six months. A friend of mine is about to have their first and asked if I had any advice. While not readily qualified to dispense parenting tips, I’m a two-time survivor of the first six months, a period typified by a word I just invented: HellJoy.

When you have a baby you will literally be up to your asshole in HellJoy. It’s an approximately 182 day stretch of time that will feature some of your proudest and worst moments as a human being. You will feel indescribable, almost unbearable amounts of love. You will have at least one (and maybe more, no judgments here) fleeting thought about leaving the kid on a sidewalk and running away as fast as you can. You will not believe that you were able to create something so perfectly innocent and beautiful. You will not believe that you were able to create something so heinously evil and disgusting.

Remember that all-nighter you pulled once in college? Or that time you had to get up at 2am for a conference call with Asia? Or that time that you got food poisoning and couldn’t sleep or keep food down for 36 hours? Those sound like fucking vacations at 3:15am when the baby won’t sleep/eat/shut up and is probably trying to kill you. But then they start moving and following you with their eyes. Then they smile and then they laugh. And the outfits are incredible. And they look like you or your partner or some ancient uncle that no one knows about and mom quit telling me about him, who the fuck is that guy anyway?

It’s a gigantic smoothie of emotions. It’s HellJoy. Anyway, not sure if this counts as advice, but here’s how I recapped the first six months to my friend:

#1: Always Remember that Parenting Books Are the Median

One of the craziest things about babies: they’re tiny people. Literally. Everyone’s different. So when a book says to do a, b and c at bed time and the shit doesn’t work, it’s not because you’re a failure or that your kid is doomed, it’s because your baby is a person and they just don’t happen to like a, b and c. So try d and f and h and m and r and if you get to z, then fuck it, you’re at z, but your baby is healthy and this will pass. Books, blogs, forums, other parents, your parents, Danny Tanner, these are all good resources to help you find your own system. So read a lot, ask a lot of questions, use the Google machine, just don’t put too much stock in any one source. And throw a book in the garbage if it makes you feel bad.

#2: Sometimes Routines Just Happen. Let Them

As Sam Waterston said in Crimes and Misdemeanors, “sometimes to have a little good luck is the best plan.” Granted the person he said that to ended up killing someone, but the statement still has value. While your baby does need you to provide some structure, they’ll also start to guide the schedule in one way or another. Our son had a 9am and 1pm nap schedule that just kinda happened. Our daughter really wants to go bed at 6:30, even though we’d like her to stay up a bit later. You can do everything you can to set a routine and make the kid adapt, but you’ll be happier if you’re open to the adverse of this as well. Which brings me to:

#3: You’re Either Militant about Your Schedule or Completely Lax About Your Schedule, With Literally no in Between

We meet two kinds of parents: the kind who plan their lives around their kids’ schedules, and the kind who make their kids adapt to the parents’ schedules. Both have varying degrees of success; both have pros and cons. The first group is usually well rested and energetic, but they can only leave the house from 10:45-11:30 and again from 3-3:45. If you want to live like Obi Wan on Tatooine, this is a great strategy for you. The second group is always available to hang out, but they show up looking haggard and are prone to momentarily blackouts, “it’s Wednesday?” If you want to live like the guy from Memento then this strategy is for you. The parents who think they can have it both ways? We wish you the best.

#4: You’ll Remember the Really Good Stuff and the Really Hard Stuff, the Stuff in the Middle Will Fade Away

That time the baby cried for five hours and then barfed and choked on it? Yeah, you’re definitely remembering that. The first bath/smile/laugh/solid food experience? You’re most likely to remember that, but it all starts to blend together after a while. Everything else? Gone. Vanished. If you want to keep it, you gotta write it down, film it, capture it.

#5: Never Have a “Who Had the Worst Day?” Competition with Your Partner

This happens organically. One parent complains about their day. The other complains about theirs. Suddenly it’s a tennis match, with each player trying to blast the ball past the other. Let’s say one parent was up all night and then had to go to work and present to the board. Let’s say one parent had a decent night’s sleep and then was home all day with the kids. Let’s say one parent had to work late, then came home and had to immediately take the baby, before they even got their shoes off. Let’s say one parent had to rearrange their entire day because the kid was sick, then they got a mean email from their CEO for missing a meeting. There are literally a million scenarios here, but the point is this: which “parent” in the examples above had the shittiest day? It’s a tie. It’s always a tie. Even when it’s clearly not a tie, it’s still a tie. Which brings me to:

#6: Go on Dates. It’s Worth It.

Yes, you’re gonna fucking paaaaaaaay for it in the morning. You could have a dinner reservation or there could be an asteroid the size of Canada heading towards earth and that baby is getting up at 4:45. Just go. Trust me, just go. Have the extra glass of wine too.

I probably could’ve kept going but I could see my friend’s eyes starting to glaze over. And they should. He doesn’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. There’s literally no way to understand this shit until you’re experiencing it firsthand. We’ve all seen the pregnancy movie; we’ve all heard the story of our own birth 1,000 times; we all have siblings and friends who have been through this and 0ffer counsel. But until it’s your partner on that table, until it’s your kid in your arms and your precious baby’s puke running down your neck and into your shirt, then there’s just no way to contextualize it.

Don’t believe me? Let’s try this:

When you get to Klaberton, you’ll be amazed by how great the Hibbodicks are.

That’s basically what every piece of advice sounds like if you haven’t had kids before. There’s really no way to prepare for parenthood, at least not in a way that will matter once you’re actually a parent. I guess the only piece of advice that really matters is to make it yours. Your partner, your kid, your HellJoy. And even if it sounds foreign and weird and even if you think you’re not ready, trust me on this: you will love the Hibbodicks.