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 helping me?
Like many parenting bloggers, I use nicknames when I write about my kids.
I employ these nicknames in a half-hearted attempt to protect the privacy of children that I already wholeheartedly exploit every single day. (And it would be even more wholehearted if someone would actually pay me to exploit them! My door is always open.
As you probably already know, when writing about them online, I refer to my five-year-old (he’ll be six in two weeks!) as Detective Munch and I refer to my baby as The Hammer. I get asked about the origins of those names fairly frequently, but I don’t think I’ve ever explained them (on my blog). So if you’re curious, today’s your lucky day.
But there’s a catch. I need your help!
As you may know, my son has a bad tree nut allergy. This means we need an epipen, and epipens recently increased in price by something like 400 percent. Even that scumbag Martin Shkreli is appalled. (That’s not even a joke; he really is.) The one time my son required the use of his epipen, we hesitated, unsure if it was necessary, and didn’t use it. He’s okay, but it was scary. (Turns out we should have used it, and we’d dodged a bullet.)
His allergy is scary. Needing an epipen is scary. The fact that we’ll probably be faced with that exact scenario again some day is scary. But what else is new? Everything about parenting is scary.
I’m always scared, and I bet you are too.
The other day, I was left home alone with my two kids and for a few hours I tasted the life of a single parent.
It didn’t work out.
As soon as my wife walked in the door, I put down the baby and picked up the bourbon. I won’t lie: I was drinking to forget — to forget the stress, the scrambling, and the screaming. I had spent a few measly hours managing my kids all by myself, and it was enough to rededicate me to my marriage for another 10 years at least.