After their first son, Brendan was born, Brian and his wife Amy decided that Brian, a freelance writer, would stay at home and Amy , a teacher, would continue to work.

Stay-at-Home Dad is a collection of 30 columns that Brian has written for local newspapers about his experiences as a stay-at-home dad. The stories are humorous, heartfelt and thought provoking. The following story is called:

Mother Nature's Baby Boot Camp

Two days after our son was born, the good folks at the hospital made the terrible mistake of letting us take him home. I guess my wife looked trustworthy enough. Like most new parents, we hopped in the car, buckled the kid up, started to pull out of the parking lot, then suddenly looked at each other and screamed in unison, "Ahhhhhhhh!"

"What the heck do we do now?" I recall asking. My wife sputtered out a sentence that sounded something like, "I... uh. We should...uh. Well... uh." She didn't have a plausible answer and neither did I. So we just drove home, giggling in newbie parent bliss.

Preparing for our baby's arrival, we had attended a birthing class at the hospital. Meeting once a week for six weeks, we learned strange and interesting facts about babies such as: their bodies are covered with fine, soft hair called lanugo; the placenta weighs about one-sixth of the baby's weight; and most babies look like small, cone-headed aliens when born (so don't be alarmed).

Most importantly, my wife learned that she should calm herself during labor by breathing in a "hee-hah-hee-hah-who" pattern and I learned which chair I should sit down and be quiet in during the delivery. We didn't find out too much, though, about what to actually do with the baby after he is born. You know, how to care for him and stuff. Despite that fact, at the conclusion of the last class, we were awarded the "Honorary Degree of Prepared Parent," which made me feel proud in a wow-I'm-such-a-fraud kind of way.

Little did I know, however, that I would more than make up for my ignorance by being conscripted into something I like to call Mother Nature's Baby Boot Camp. I had just been drafted for 30 days of intense baby training, like it or not.

Almost immediately, the drill sergeant in my head barked out his orders: Ten-hut! Private Kantz, this baby is under your command. He can do little for himself - he's depending on you. Don't mess this up! Well, that's true. A baby can do very little for himself. I guess that's the beauty of being a parent, though. It takes your constant effort to keep him happy and healthy. And I was ready for the challenge.

Private Kantz, you must feed the baby every oh-three hundred hours! Don't be late!

Every three hours. That's not bad, I initially thought. I soon realized, though, that if you do anything every three hours, you start to lose all track of time. The day becomes a blur. Your life becomes the formula. I began trekking, wild-eyed, down to the kitchen at 4 a.m. each day muttering my best Robert Duvall impression, "Ah, I love the smell of Similac in the morning." And, yes, I was even tempted to take a quick sip, which is why I can advise all new dads: don't try the formula, it's not worth it. Might look like a milkshake, but it doesn't exactly taste like one.

Private Kantz, you must wake up! Now! For the very same reason that babies eat every three hours or so, that means they are up every three hours or so. Or every 24 hours or so. It all depends on the baby's particular mood that day. Like the newbie dad that I am, I stationed the kid's bassinet an inch and a half from the bed so I could hawk over him all night. A small spit-up, I wipe it. A small cry from his mouth, I stick a pacifier in it. Then you realize that it's 3 a.m. and you're still up, so you flip on the TV and watch C-SPAN's coverage of the Congressional debates over the government's wild mongoose conservation efforts and other pressing issues.

Private Kantz, you must learn to identify the weapons of mass destruction in your baby's pants. Veteran parents will back me up on this. It doesn't take long to distinguish the infant groans for pee, gas and poop. "Oh, that's just gas," I soon found myself saying in mixed company. You also learn quickly with a baby boy to avoid stepping in the line of friendly fire - you know, that spray of pee that sends you diving to the floor. Let's just say the first three times I changed my baby, I also had to change myself.

Private Kantz, you must learn to assemble the baby gear properly! Don't leave extra nuts and bolts when putting together the crib! And you must learn to pack light and efficiently! You don't need four suitcases full of baby stuff for an afternoon trip to Grandma's house! Well, you get the point. Fortunately, I've made it through the first 30 days of basic training intact, and I feel prepared to move ahead with this baby-raising mission.

Brian Kantz is a Buffalo, NY-based writer and editor. He invites your comments and can be reached at thenewbiedad@yahoo.com.Visit his website at www.briankantz.com.

If interested in getting a copy of Stay-at-Home Dad, it is available at www.cafepress.com Brian is donating all profits on books ordered before June 30 to First Book, a national nonprofit organization that provides free books to low-income children.