Parents are boring.
At least the ones who care about nothing except being a parent are. I care about my kids, but they’re not all I care about.
Nor should they be.
I am the hardest working dad in the world. (Granted, I’m only a dad, so it’s a low bar, but my gender is not my fault. It’s GOD’s fault!)
You’re probably wondering what makes me, Dad and Buried, the hardest working dad in the world. Well, for starters, I have a ten-week-old baby and a five-year-old son and both of them are still alive!
HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES?
Heart disease isn’t a big trend in my family. Sure, there’s some, my grandfather had some heart issues that contributed to his failing health, and my other grandfather died from a heart attack before I was old enough to remember meeting him.
Aaand now I’m reconsidering my luck. Especially since my doctor recently told me that my triglycerides were a little high – which apparently is not a good thing, because when I tried to fist-bump him he got mad.
Referring to the months leading up to the Hammer’s arrival as “stressful” is a massive understatement.
I was out of my mind with anxiety, from worries about future restrictions on money and and sleep and time, to concerns about both the baby’s and Mom and Buried’s health, to wondering how I would possible survive the post-delivery ban on sex, my mind was overwhelmed with fear and uncertainty.
Now, of course – exactly as I kept telling myself it would be all along (to little avail) – everything is fine.