I love my kids, I just hate parenting
As of this morning, I’ve been a parent of two children for four months and one day. Thanks to the five-year separation in their ages, it doesn’t always feel like it.
When Mom and Buried and I decided to have another kid, we worried about the bigger-than-desired age gap, but so far, it’s making things easier for us. So much so that I sometimes forget I have two kids!
I don’t mind the sibling age gap.
I like spending time with my wife, without the kids.
Going out for a romantic dinner or even a boozy lunch, enjoying each other’s company and pretending life is as it was before you became parents, or became roommates, or became contractually obligated to run out the string, is a critical part of a healthy relationship.
But I hate date night.
I guess I’m a party pooper. My son turned five in September, and as usual, my wife threw him an elaborate and expensive birthday party, complete with a theme, of course. Now that we have another kid to celebrate, the birthday party nightmare is only going to get worse.
When Detective Munch turned one, it was a circus theme. For two, it was Yo Gabba Gabba! At three, it was all about trains, and at four, he and his friends got capes and dressed as superheroes. This time around, it was a pirate-themed affair, complete with invitations that looked like—and were actually burned at the edges to look like—old treasure maps, a corresponding treasure hunt, and plastic swords and eye-patches for all the scurvy little dogs to take home and subsequently use to terrorize their parents.
It was fun. My son had fun, his friends had fun, everyone had fun. Even the adults! (We provided beer and mimosas because WE’RE NOT MONSTERS.) That doesn’t mean I want to do it again.
Parenting turns us all into hypocrites.
Throughout our lives, we all encounter situations in which it behooves us to disavow any and all association with certain… unsavory behaviors from our pasts. Like during a job interview, or upon meeting your girlfriend’s parents, or at church.
But those instances are short-lived, and you can go right back to being a rock star when they’re over. Unless you have kids.
Because parenting never ends.
I’m lucky.
Heart disease isn’t a big trend in my family. Sure, there’s some, my grandfather had some heart issues that contributed to his failing health, and my other grandfather died from a heart attack before I was old enough to remember meeting him.
Aaand now I’m reconsidering my luck. Especially since my doctor recently told me that my triglycerides were a little high – which apparently is not a good thing, because when I tried to fist-bump him he got mad.