I’ve posted before about the ramifications of my son growing up to be someone I can’t stand, and about the inconvenience of him preferring his mother to me. But I haven’t really delved into the bigger issue that comes with the question of who my son prefers, or, really, whether my son likes MomandBuried or me at all.
Does it even matter if my son likes me?
From a practical perspective, I’m inclined to think not.
My brother’s girlfriend came over for Easter dinner on Sunday, and she brought her daughter, who is currently traversing that gap between tween-dom and teen-dom.
And boy, did she love our baby.
I mentioned we took the kid swimming. The first week went, ahem, swimmingly. The second week? Not so much. The differentiating factor?
Last weekend, MomandBuried and I took our son to swim lessons.
Yes, he is learning how to swim at only 7 months old. Although “learning” is a bit misleading. More like DOMINATING.
At first it was a little weird to be bringing an infant into a public pool, especially when the woman in charge of the class made everyone start singing. Even MORE especially when I threw my son into the pool before realizing that’s not the best way to teach him how to swim.
At least now I know he’s not a witch.
There a lots of different types of parents.
Good parents, bad parents, absentee parents, foster parents, single parents, gay parents, neo-Nazi parents, etc.
And then there are those cute little couples who have children and live near family. But I hardly consider them parents at all.
This is the invitation I received in my email inbox just moments ago:
Really? The Potty Dance? Come on, people.
I dread the days when the word “potty” becomes a part of my vocabulary. I already say the words “Babies R Us” far too often. If I ever say the words, or participate in something that’s called the “Potty Dance,” I give you permission to shoot me.
On a side note, how much does Ralph Covert hate his life?
So we recently booked a trip to Ireland, the wife and I.
And we’re bringing the baby.
Calm down. I said calm down! Unless you’re booked on the same flights we’re on, I don’t want to hear any whining. I do want to hear any tips you might have about stuff to do in Ireland and your advice on traveling with an infant, so long as it’s not just “don’t.”
Planning a trip is hard enough without the parenting police chiming in. Planning a trip requires a lot of…planning. And even more when you’re dragging and infant along.
Including securing the proper documentation…