I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Every parent craves, nay, every parent requires some time away from the kids.
Mom and Buried and I just had some, when we went away on a babymoon for a few days over the weekend.
Unfortunately, when you have kids, being away from them can be a bit of a mixed bag.
The “dad bod” trend has been a boon to dads – and non-dads – everywhere. I was at the beach last week, and everywhere I looked, it was dad bod city.
Who can blame us? Men suddenly have validation for our laziness, and apparently there’s an entire subset of women who find our beer bellies attractive!
I admit that I have a dad bod of my own, but not on purpose. I go to the gym several times a week, and I try to eat healthy, give or take 100 beers a week. I don’t want a dad bod. I hate even saying dad bod. And I especially hate the people I blame for giving me one.
Last week, after I laid out why I agree with Target’s new non-gender assignation policy, a handful of people on social media praised me, called me a great dad, and said they wished more people would raise their kids like I’m raising mine.
AWKWARD. I’ve never committed credit fraud, but when I get praise for being a good parent, that’s what it feels like.
I prefer when people call me an asshole and a terrible father. Because, as my regular readers know (thanks, regular readers!), that’s a lot closer to the truth.
Even before I became a dad, I knew my kid was going to hate me someday.
At some point, probably somewhere around his 13th or 14th birthday, I’ll become Public Enemy #1. There’s no avoiding it; it’s biology! Most of us “hated” our parents when we were teens, for reasons both real and imagined (mostly imagined) and motivated by hormones, a need for independence, and, occasionally, outright shitty parents.
Now we’re the parents. The turntables have turned, and we’re going to be hated the same way we “hated” (your use of quotation marks may vary) our moms and dads.
I’m ready for it. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.
I was supposed to keep track.
I was supposed to tally all the miles I walked with Detective Munch and Mom and Buried, as part of the “KINDMilesMatter” campaign. But I blew it. Rather, my son blew it.
Because kids ruin everything.