I love my kids, I just hate parenting
What is it with children and Cheerios?
My 6-year-old eats them, my baby attempts to eat them, they both spill them and play with them and throw them around. Meanwhile, my cupboard is full of them, my floor is littered with them, the backseat of my car is covered in them, and I’m constantly stepping on them.
I bet you are too. Because when you have kids, you have Cheerios. There’s no way around it.
I wanted a daughter.
Last year, before my second son was born, I was hoping to have a girl. (We already had a boy, and I wanted someone to prefer me for a change!) I don’t care anymore, of course. I love both my boys and wouldn’t trade them for anything. Well, maybe for a little peace and quiet, but that’s not gonna happen.
Besides, according to just about every guy I know who has a daughter, I’m lucky. Having girls is scary, they say, especially when they get older — especially for dads.
I hope to help make it a little easier.
I’m so naive!
Sure, I’ve only been the father of two children for a year, but many of my assumptions, my expectations, even some of my hopes about life with a second kid have already been dashed.
For example, I remember when I thought baby number two might actually prefer me.
Can’t we all just get along? Yeah, no. Especially not us parents.
We all parent differently. Even if our general philosophies are the same, we still parent differently, because we’re different people who have unique children. There is no blueprint we all follow because there’s no blueprint period. Real parenting isn’t about planning, it’s about adapting and improvising, and handling all the nonsense your kids throw at you.
So I’m not concerned if other people have different parenting styles from me. I already know nearly everyone does. Even my own wife! But there are a handful of qualities I look for in other parents, qualities that, if you have them, make me confident we’ll get along.
A year ago tomorrow, The Hammer was born.
Throughout the past year – well, more like the last six-to-nine months (those first three are pretty uneventful), he’s been a delightful addition to the Buried household, with an infectious smile, infectious laugh, infectious laundry, infectious stomach bugs, infectious insomnia, infectious debt…
No, I don’t regret having a second child. Why do you ask?