I’m tired. I just turned 40. I have a six-year-old (as of yesterday!) and an eight-month-old. I have a full-time job, a full-time blog, and a full-time wife. I am tired. I’m tired because I rarely get enough sleep, but I’m also tired when I get a full eight hours. I’m even tired when IRead more about In Defense of Being Tired[…]
My second kid turned eight months old yesterday. He has a few teeth, we’ve started easing him into baby food (with disastrous results), and he’s looking to crawl any minute, which is going to severely complicate my life and increase my stress level.
Meanwhile, the original kid started first grade last week. He is about to lose a few teeth, tried oysters for the first time over the summer (loved them!), and, most significantly, is dangerously close to being able to read the channel guide, thus preventing me from lying about his shows not being on.
This is all very momentous, obviously, but when do my kids’ developmental milestones start benefiting me?
Today, I turn 40.
This used to be a big deal. It used to mean middle age. But I’m not really sweating it. Sure, there are some things I’m disappointed I haven’t accomplished yet (*coughMYBOOKcough*) but 40 is the new 30, so I still have some time.
But there is one thing that bums me out about today’s milestone.
When you’re a kid, all you want for Christmas, or Hanukkah, or your birthday, are toys. All kinds of toys. Board games, action figures, lightsabers, it barely matters. They’re fun, and they make you happy.
When you’re parent, those same toys become a major source of irritation. They clutter your home, they empty your wallet, they give you a headache…
If you’re lucky.
I know what you’re thinking: why hasn’t Dad and Buried written about his son’s penis?
Well, you’re in luck!