I love my kids, I just hate parenting
My wife is pregnant. Capital-P pregnant. Like, nearly ten months, ready to burst, hating life, “why did I do this?” pregnant.
I am not pregnant. But, out of solidarity, I spent the holidays doing my best to make it seem like I was. Because I’m a good husband.
And a stupid idiot.
I have a lot of stuff on my mind, lately, most of which revolves around the forthcoming arrival of my second child.
We are about the enter the final trimester, and as we cross that checkpoint, shit is getting real. We just moved to a bigger place in order to make room for both the baby and for all the attendant baby gear we’re going to need. In fact, we’ve already started accumulating some of it.
And yet all the baby stuff that has begun filling up our physical space is nothing compared to the baby stuff that’s been filling up my head space.
If your kid is anything like mine, I bet s/he is into Band-Aids.
It’s a strange thing to be obsessed with, especially when your kid loves Band-Aids while simultaneously being terrified of the things that actually require Band-Aids.
Every once in a while, particularly during the back-to-school season, we see a flurry of blog posts and articles about allergies.
The posts typically concern one of two things, depending on the proclivities of the author:
1) Please don’t bring [this thing that my child is deathly allergic to] to school, I’m begging you! or;
2) Whatever, I don’t care if your kid dies.
My son has a pretty severe tree nut allergy. Guess which category this post falls into?
Now that the cat’s out of the bag about the impending new addition to the Buried family, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty: gender identification.
When we realized Mom and Buried was pregnant, we started speculating about what it would be. My wife wanted a girl for a variety of reasons, some that were general (a girl to bond with!), some that were personal (she grew up with, and loves having, sisters), some that weren’t big priorities (variety!). I know, a mom wants a little girl? This is not surprising to people.
What may be a surprise is that I wanted a girl too!
Will we get one? You’ll have to come to my house for a slice of color-coded cake to find out!