When it comes to your kids, is it wrong to be too honest?
I ask this only partially as someone who writes a blog about having a kid. Both “partially” because no one needs a blog to publicize what they’re feeling – especially today, with twitter feeds and facebook and spray paint – and “partially” because while I write about things that are really happening in my life, I certainly don’t write about them with a straight-face.
He had a kid, once. It was a few years ago, in Bryan Singer’s inert flick, and everyone involved has surely forgotten it by now. Or at least tried to.
But I found myself thinking about it over the weekend, thanks to some news about the upcoming Superman flick, and a need to shoehorn my take on that news – and other Superman-related thoughts – into a blog about that’s primarily about being a father…
FACT: All babies are created equal.
FACT: Their parents are not.
Babies are little humans, slowly developing their own personalities and opinions and interests. As clean slates making their way toward self-realization, they deserve the benefit of the doubt and the unencumbered opportunity to reach their fullest potential.
Parents, however, have had their chance. They are adults (give or take every parent ever featured on MTV or VH1) who’ve they lived their lives and are what they are. At some point they decided (give or take every parent ever featured on MTV or VH1) to have a kid. Or two. Or 19. And now they have to live with that decision. They weren’t born parents, they became parents. They chose their lifestyle, they made their beds – and they deserve no quarter.
Today is a popular day to call in sick. It’s the day after St. Patrick’s Day. It’s day two of the NCAA Basketball Tournament. It’s a Friday. And here in the Northeast it’s spring-like, which might not seem like a big deal to you, since it’s March, but if it doesn’t you clearly don’t live in the Northeast.
Not everyone is so bold as to bail on work on such an obvious day. But if you’re lucky enough to have a job where you are able to work from home…
Yeah, I filled out a bracket or two. No, I didn’t catch much College Basketball this year. I HAVE A FUCKING BABY.
You think I have time for College Basketball? Hell no: I HAVE A FUCKING BABY.
This baby is not alone in fearing the sound of someone blowing their nose. My kid freaks out too.
Babies are so stupid!
I’d worry that my son was turning into a huge wuss if I wasn’t so busy laughing my ass off at how petrified he gets. Much like the baby in the video, he recoils in wide-eyed fear.
I can’t wait to see how he reacts when I throw up in front of him!
I’m referring to my son’s diet.
This weekend he partook in his first taste of actual food – the non-breast milk, can-buy-it-in-the-supermarket kind.
We waited until he was about six months old before springing the good stuff on him – some babies start earlier, some later – but judging by his reaction to it, we waited about six months too long. The kid couldn’t get enough!
…she already knows.
Last weekend we made the bold move of leaving our baby with a stranger while we went out for a nice dinner with friends. We arranged for her to watch the little guy for four hours, but with travel to and from the restaurant, it ended up being more like five. When we finally got home, I had to shell out a whole bunch of cash to the babysitter.
I felt like I was Brandon Walsh paying the Duke (which is weird, because I don’t look like Jason Priestley; I look like B.A.G.), and there was no Nat to bail me out.
Going out for a night ended up costing us a small fortune. Oh, and the kid? Slept the whole time the babysitter was there.
My wife and I are starting to consider the morbid question of whom to ask to raise our son should something tragic happen. It’s a tough question, and there are lots of candidates. We’ve already eliminated Katherine Heigl and Josh Duhamel from consideration, but that’s about it.
Well, we’ve eliminated them and whoever wrote this list:
While I can see the logic behind purchasing “3 Ketchups,” I just don’t think I want my son to grow up in a household where they make cheese from wood.