I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Have you ever been curious about what I was like before I had kids? Or what I thought about kids when I was single and carefree? Well today is your lucky day!
Like most of you, I had a bit of a different take on kids and parents and parenting before I became a parent – I was not yet a part of the collective – and perhaps nothing I wrote encapsulates that different take better than this piece.
Years ago, before I had a blog, I wrote for an online magazine called Intrepid Media. It had a small but dedicated following, and my style was much the same as it is now: bitter, sarcastic, something of a put-on, just less-developed and almost completely non-child related. I didn’t have a kid yet, so the topics were more varied, if you think writing about being irrationally angry about many different things qualifies as variety.
I thought I’d occasionally re-post an article from the now defunct magazine. Why? I’m not sure. They are old – I wrote a column a month for about 10 years, before stopping in early 2011 (give-or-take one or two more) – and dated and re-reading them makes me cringe, but whatever, sometimes you need to re-post old stuff just fill out a week.
This one seems appropriate for several reasons, which may or may not become apparent when you finish reading it. Enjoy! Or don’t enjoy, because either way, without Intrepid Media and the posts that will be featured in this new “series,” I would never have met Mom and Buried. And Detective Munch would not exist. The writing is just gravy.
And so, the first Pre-Natal post.
Of all the questions I hear most often these days – “How is your wife feeling?” and “When is the baby due?” and “Wow, have you been working out?”- the one that gives me the most pause is “Are you ready?”
Sometimes that’s followed with “to rumble?” and then things get real in a hurry, but usually it’s obvious that they are really just asking me if I’m prepared for the awesome responsibility of becoming a father.
Most of the time, I acknowledge the person’s superficial interest and half-hearted feint at concern by offering one of three quick responses – “Yes?” or “I hope so!” or “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess” – and then moving on to something else. After all, most people that ask don’t really care. They’re just being polite. And nosy.
The question is the dad-to-be’s equivalent to the constant “how are you feeling?” query that pregnant women are faced with, and – as I mentioned above – it’s easy to dismiss. But should I deign to give it some real thought, it can send me spiraling into an existential black hole that can only be filled with crying jags, drunken fisticuffs and some cutting.
Maybe I’m being too hard on myself. Is it even possible to really be ready to become a parent?