I love my kids, I just hate parenting
I don’t believe in astrology. That’s probably because I’m a Virgo.
I’m sick of looking at stupid fortunes based on whether your folks got it on on New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s, or Bastille Day. They are vague to the point of meaninglessness. But I guess they can be kind of fun, like fortune cookies.
I just wish they were more specific to my role as a parent.
I’ve always found it annoying that it’s so hard to stay mad at my son. Even when he’s being horrible, he’s still adorable. It’s sickening.
I’ve written about the way biology tricks us before – little kids are really just one long con, suckering us with their cuteness only to obliterate our lives when they get older – but there are some perks to the biological bond we have with our children.
Especially when they need some TLC.
Children will never admit to being tired.
They’ll shake their heads while they’re yawning if they think it will buy them five more minutes of doing whatever stupid bullshit they’re doing. My son hates going to bed more than I hate trying to put my son to bed!
They simply don’t know what’s best for them. So it’s up to us to decide.
God is pretty much the most famous dad in the world. Even if he hadn’t had a son, he has a fatherly presence in many people’s lives, offering them support and guidance in their times of need.
The famous “Footprints in the Sand” poem, in which a man sees only one set of footprints in the sand when formerly there were two and subsequently asks God why He abandoned him, is a great example of this. And people love it. It’s a great way of conveying the love and support religious people feel that God provides them.
Of course, if that poem really were written by a dad, it might be a little bit different.
Having kids can occasionally feel like living in a monster movie. Because children are monsters!
When you kid bites you, he might as well be a vampire. When she screams up a storm, she can be as terrifying as a banshee. When they try to wipe their own butt, they often end up looking like a mummy. For the first few years of their lives, they all walk like Frankenstein’s monster.
And every single one of them reduces your home to rubble, like one monster in particular…