Parenting is the worst thing in the world and the worst part about it is how fast it goes by.
Such is the paradox every mom and dad must come to terms with as soon as their first child is born. The bad parts are plentiful, the good parts are transcendent, and everything is over before you know it. I bitch a lot about pretty much all of it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t also love it. Personally, if I can’t bitch about something, it might as well not even exist. Which makes every rant against the hassle of child-rearing just further evidence of how important it all is to me.
Which means this list of things I hate about parenting is actually kind of a love letter, if that helps you feel better.
I’m a reasonable guy. I like to be noticed as much as the next person who has a blog and a Facebook page and a Twitter account. Believe me, I know how strong the pull of social media is; I struggle with it every day.
Luckily, when it comes to Dad and Buried-related stuff, I have a bit of an out: I write in character and I keep my D&B accounts mostly separate from my personal ones. But even there I don’t broadcast every moment of my life. Case in point, my non-D&B Facebook wall is almost entirely links to the Onion. Which is where you’d expect to find some of the outlandish pregnancy announcements that have been all over the internet lately.
I hate pregnancy announcements, and not just the ones with the terrifying 3-D sonograms.
I wouldn’t expect you to understand. If you’re not from here, it must seem alien to you.
Around these parts we do things differently, and if you’re not born and raised in this culture, you’re probably never going to get it. We eat different foods, we use different slang, we wear different clothes, and yes, we discipline our children differently.
So I can’t condemn Adrian Peterson for what he did. It’s a part of his culture.
As you’ve probably figured out by now, I primarily use this blog to vent, to crack jokes, to scratch my creativity itch, and as an outlet for sarcasm. But when all is said and done, these posts will ultimately add up to one long journal. It will serve as a collection of memories from my son’s early life and a scrapbook of moments from my life as a parent, many of which might otherwise be forgotten in my son’s sprint through childhood.
I swear, he outgrows something new every day, and sometimes I just want him to slow down. He’s not going to, of course, which reminds me: Detective Munch turns four today!
This is probably the last blog you expect to get sappy – at least I hope it is. But if you’ve been paying attention, you might know that my son’s birthday is just about the only time a year I allow myself to go a little soft.
Starting today, I’m going to give you an opportunity to go soft with me. Wow, that sounds really gross.
Tomorrow is my birthday. (No gifts please, just Facebook likes. Trying to hit 10k!)
I don’t really worry much about my birthdays. Despite my steadily increasing amount of grey hairs and my steadily decreasing amount of all hairs (REVERSE JINX!), I’m not one to panic about my age. At least not yet. (Ask me again in two years, when I’m hitting 40.)
Of course, having a kid forces one to reevaluate the passage of time, and having a kid whose birthday is a mere six days after mine isn’t helping.
It’s almost like he’s chasing me.
Look, I don’t know if vaccines cause autism. Or Guillian-Barre Syndrome. Or seizures. I don’t think they do, but I could be wrong.
Believe me, I like a good conspiracy as much as the next person, and I hate Big Pharma as much as the next person, and I am probably more cynical than most people. And I believe there are plenty of smart, well-educated, equally cynical, equally sane people who have good reason to think vaccinations have harmed their children in a variety of ways. I don’t know if they’re right. I’m not a scientist, I haven’t done the experiments. Maybe they have (they haven’t).
But for me, right and wrong isn’t the point. For me, it comes down to risk.