A Day in the Life of a Voiceover Dada

Breathe, Josh.  Just Breathe.

  • 4am: Awake, reluctantly, due to Baby noise. Pray for precious silence as heart beats wildly with tension-filled anxiety.
  • 4:01am: Infant thankfully goes back to sleep. Resolve to pretend that you too are sleeping the next time this happens, so that wife will get him.
  • 4:26am: Infant cries out again.  Manufacture the best snore.  Receive an Oscar nomination.  Feel the heat of wife’s stare on the back of your head.  Drool a little so as to really get into the role.  Wife yawns, stretches, comes over, spoons up drool and examines it, is convinced you’re asleep (thus the Oscar), and saunters off to infant, who is still crying.
  • 4:47am: Wife comes down hall to return to bed. Quickly lock your phone and put it back on the charger and resume fake snores.
  • 5am: Stupid alarm clock. Thrash about wildly.  Reach everywhere but where your phone is in a desperate attempt to stop the madness.  Curse life and all that it brings you.
  • 5:01am: Re-evaluate. Force a smile.  Bless life and all that it stands for.
  • 5:02am: Weigh in. Curse life again.  Kick something.
  • 5:06am: Head downstairs and feed your beloved dog, and her annoying cat (time permitting on the cat).
  • 5:13am: Infant cries out. Feel heart beating wildly with anxiety, hoping against hope that he’ll stay asleep.
  • 5:14am: Bullet dodged.   Time for a little devotional with a protein shake from Costco.  Experience no inventory anxiety because they come in packs of three-thousand nine-hundred and twenty seven.
  • 5:25am: Devotional and prayer over. Ready to start the day with some marketing.
  • 5:25am: Why is wife still sleeping?  Watch baby monitor and pray to The Baby Sleep Pattern Diety, hope they’re listening.
  • 5:27am: Head upstairs, retrieve infant, trip over hard plastic toy lovingly and strategically placed in the middle of a high traffic line by 3-year-old. Forget prayer and devotional time from just a few minutes ago, curse loudly.
  • 5:30am: Infant successfully buried in Boppy, blankets and other convenient restraining devices with bottle affixed in mouth. Milk dispensing.  Commence Instagram marketing.
  • 5:50am: Instagram marketing complete. Actually, baby finished consuming milk and THAT’S the reason for abrupt termination of Instagram marketing.
  • 5:51am: Remove restraining devices and blankets. Discover with surprise that there’s a baby under all of that.
  • 5:51am: Proceed with oo-zhoo-boo-boo-doo-doo’s. Baby coos and gurgles.
  • 5:52am: Burp heard in Belgium from my infant in Washington state.
  • 5:52am: Wipe baby vomit from chest. Thanks, Kid.
  • 5:56am: More baby talk. More cooing.  OK, let’s do this.  Wrap baby back up in burrito that would make Taco Del Mar green with envy.  Fantasize about eating him.  Head upstairs back to crib.  For baby.  I have my own bed.
  • 6:03am: Ring out five towels of sweat from bouncing on the yoga ball with baby. Briefly consider treadmill workout; scoff at the insanity of such an endeavor, having been drained of all bodily fluids from baby-bouncing.
  • 6:05am: Hop on scale.   Forget devotional once again and cry out at the inhumanity.  Hop on treadmill after all.
  • 6:10am: Having been successfully revived by the nice paramedics, saunter away from the treadmill up to the office. Crack knuckles and prepare to commence marketing onslaught.
  • 6:10am: Record and submit a cache of posted auditions. Post on Instagram, Pinterest, LinkedIn, Twitter. Market to 50 email addresses of video producers.  Market to 20 realtors.  Market to 20 E-Learning developers.  Connect with 20 contacts on LinkedIn.  Contact 20 Vimeo producers. Contact 5 YouTube producers. Submit to two talent agencies. Post amusing meme/poster online. Tweet. Check Search Tempest for Craigslist jobs.  Hop down, turn around, pick a bail of cotton.
  • 7:10am: Hear 3-year-old awake and prepare plans for world domination.
  • 7:15am: Receive more audition alerts, prepare to record.
  • 7:15am: See aforementioned 3-year-old stroll into office, rub eyes and sport the usual adorable look and messy hair. Marketing aborted with a hard sigh and grunt.  Smile at the sight of this beautiful kiddo.
  • 7:17am: Done hugging 3-year-old. Say something about loving him over and over. (There may or may not have been tickles.)  Flip to the next day of the Pixar wall calendar with him.    Head downstairs with him in tow.
  • 7:43am: Yogurt successfully shoved down gullet of 3-year-old. Snuggle on couch for The Neverending Story.  Consume hard-boiled egg.  Commence coffee drinkage.
  • 7:49am: Wife is downstairs. Big kisses. She goes to bed around 1am, so begrudge not.
  • 7:56am: Begin putting clothes on 3-year-old in prep for preschool.
  • 8:23am: Preschooler is now clothed. Experience neck pain from shaking it and sighing. Recollect with victory that I have now mastered the come-here-or-you’re-in-trouble-countdown and can recite it for neighbors and friends.
  • 8:33am: Wife, having retrieved infant, is back downstairs, dressing him.
  • 8:34am: Onesie, baby jammies and adorable elf-bell infant hat on. No fair.
  • 8:42am: Help get kids into car and send wife off with a kiss.
  • 8:45am: Trudge back upstairs and perform auditions, of which now there are three hundred and eighty. Knock as many out as possible.
  • 9:37am: Time to shower. There will be singing.
  • 10:23am: All set for the day. Back to the office!
  • 11:37am: 3-year-old pops in to show me a dinosaur.  Nod in smiling approval while typing.  Produce a long cartoonish “Woooooooooow…”  Continue typing.
  • 12:16pm: 3-year-old pops in to ask what I’m doing and to leave toys in random places.  Greet with a hearty “Hi buddy!!!”  Hug, pat on bum, send him on his way and keep working.
  • 12:19pm: 3-year-old pops in to retrieve previously left toys.
  • 12:23pm: Observe 3-year-old come in to the office, look at me, say nothing, leave.  Scratch head and chuckle at the oddness.  Realize he’s 3.
  • 12:31pm: Late lunch. Saltine crackers and string cheese.  Back to work.
  • 1:04pm: Hear random shouts from downstairs of “don’t paint your brother!”, “Come here right now or I’ll feed you to the wild boars outside”, accompanied by loud squeals as wife impersonates monster and pursues 3-year-old down the hall
  • 1:38pm: Observe 3-year-old pop in to ask me if I remembered the luck dragon Falkor from The Neverending Story. Answer in the affirmative and engage in mild talk about dragons and assure him he’s getting a luck dragon for his birthday.  Back to work.
  • 2:07pm: Wife sends 3-year-old upstairs for me to assume naptime duties. Take kiddo into bedroom.  See that he’s pooped in his potty.  Congratulate heartily, panic because he doesn’t know how to wipe yet.  Look for poop streaks on carpet.  Clean up 3-year-old and commence single naptime story.
  • 2:43pm: Story done. Second story done.  Third story done.  Eighth story done.  Tickles fulfilled; kisses doled out.  Sneak out of room as 3-year-old snores.  Hit that one creaky floorboard.  Freeze and look back in fear.    Crisis averted.  Flee room – SLOWLY and QUIETLY.  Back to work.
  • 3:26pm: Wife comes in room holding infant. Both are adorable and lovely.  Kisses for all.  Back to work.
  • 3:48pm: Lots going on. Marketing. Auditioning. Connecting. Researching. Recording. Loving life.
  • 4:13pm: Observe Macy the dog walk in, stand, wag tail, look at me. Remind her that it’s not dinner time yet.  Observe Macy leaving.
  • 4:18pm: Observe Macy the dog walk in, stand, wag tail, look at me. Remind her that it’s not dinner time yet.  Observe Macy leaving.
  • 4:27pm: Observe Macy the dog walk in, stand, wag tail, look at me. Remind her that it’s not dinner time yet.  Observe Macy leaving.
  • 4:28pm: Observe Macy the dog walk in, stand, wag tail, look at me. Remind her that it’s not dinner time yet.  Observe Macy leaving.
  • 4:45pm: Wrap up work. Put a bow on it. It’s been another good day.  Lots of good stuff.  Lots of contacts made.  Lots of brain-wear.  Ready to be done.
  • 4:50pm: Handle last minute auditions.
  • 5pm or thereabouts: Head downstairs. Sigh a big sigh of contentment.  Another day in the bag.
  • 5:05pm: Be attacked by dog. Remember that they wanted something.  Oh yeah.
  • 5:06pm, 5:07pm, 5:08pm, and every minute thereafter: Be attacked by 3-year-old. Remember that they wanted something.  Oh yeah.
  • 5:15pm: Consume voraciously because…infant.
  • 5:33pm: Dinner done. Pat wife on behind and smile.  Kiss kiss time.  Remember that you deeply love her and are immeasurably grateful for her.  For life and marriage, yes, but especially for letting us go into debt for the new studio and for basically funding my dreams.
  • 6:07pm: Engage in much horseplay with kiddo. Assume monster voice and stance.  Pursue and destroy.
  • 6:07pm: Engage in said activity until you begin to show signs of dying.
  • 7:13pm: Bath time. Watch 3-year-old collect toys to add to the fifty-seven he already has in the tub.
  • 7:56pm: Bath time complete. Proceed to 3-year-old’s bedroom for story time.  Receive lecture that 3-year-old has not had the proper bedtime snack yet.  Head downstairs with head down.
  • 8:26pm: Bedtime snack complete. Head upstairs for eight more pre-sleep stories.  Lights out after kisses and snuggles, tickles, hugs, more hugs, bedtime prayers, hair tousles, wrestling, and more kisses and snuggles.  Sit in chair while 3-year-old falls asleep
  • 8:57pm: Slowly and cautiously head out of room again. Dang floorboards.
  • 9:03pm: Kiss wife. Watch a Scrubs episode or two (or three) with popcorn.  Enjoy much laughter. Watch Scrubs with wife until we both pass out from sheer exhaustion.
  • 10pm: I need another shower.
  • 10:16pm: Infant cries out. Exchange worried looks with wife.
  • 10:16pm: Infant relents and allows there to be peace in the world again.
  • 10:17pm: Infant changes mind. There shall be no peace. *cue Draconian music*
  • 10:18pm: Infant realizes it’s an infant and changes mind. Spits out binky and proceeds to sleep.
  • 10:46pm: Wipes popcorn from mouth, kisses wife and heads to bed.
  • 11:06pm: Infant cries out. Pretend to be asleep in case wife is listening.
  • 11:20pm: Sigh contented sigh and drift off into the void. Dream of fixing creaky floorboards in 3-year-old’s room.  Make mental note to hire handyman since when you attempt that type of work people die.




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Joshua Alexander
Seattle Voice Actor & Voiceover Talent for hire

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3 thoughts on “A Day in the Life of a Voiceover Dada”

  1. Love the last line “Make mental note to hire handyman since when you attempt that type of work people die.” Made me laugh out loud. Thanks for the detailed description of a day as a Dada.

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