I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Do you like being scared? It’s October, so there’s no better time, right?
Well, forget vampires and mummies and werewolves and celebrities without makeup, I have a foolproof way to give yourself the willies:
Have kids.
With apologies to Tom Petty, the waiting actually ain’t so bad. It’s the separating that’s the hardest part. Especially when it comes to dropping my kid off at school.
He’s only four years old, so I’m not talking about sending him off to college, or even to the military academy he’ll definitely be attending if he doesn’t shape up! I’m talking about sending him to pre-kindergaten. Where he eats paste for six hours.
If he can’t figure out how to handle that, I’m going to start eating paste. After my nervous breakdown.
As you’ve probably figured out by now, I primarily use this blog to vent, to crack jokes, to scratch my creativity itch, and as an outlet for sarcasm. But when all is said and done, these posts will ultimately add up to one long journal. It will serve as a collection of memories from my son’s early life and a scrapbook of moments from my life as a parent, many of which might otherwise be forgotten in my son’s sprint through childhood.
I swear, he outgrows something new every day, and sometimes I just want him to slow down. He’s not going to, of course, which reminds me: Detective Munch turns four today!
This is probably the last blog you expect to get sappy – at least I hope it is. But if you’ve been paying attention, you might know that my son’s birthday is just about the only time a year I allow myself to go a little soft.
Starting today, I’m going to give you an opportunity to go soft with me. Wow, that sounds really gross.
Tomorrow is my birthday. (No gifts please, just Facebook likes. Trying to hit 10k!)
I don’t really worry much about my birthdays. Despite my steadily increasing amount of grey hairs and my steadily decreasing amount of all hairs (REVERSE JINX!), I’m not one to panic about my age. At least not yet. (Ask me again in two years, when I’m hitting 40.)
Of course, having a kid forces one to reevaluate the passage of time, and having a kid whose birthday is a mere six days after mine isn’t helping.
It’s almost like he’s chasing me.