I love my kids, I just hate parenting
There a lots of different types of parents: Good parents, bad parents, absentee parents, foster parents, single parents, gay parents, neo-Nazi parents, etc.
And then there are those cute little couples who have children and live near family. But I hardly consider them parents at all.
Real parents do it all by themselves.
All babies are created equal. Their parents are not.
Babies are little humans, slowly developing their own personalities and opinions and interests. As clean slates making their way toward self-realization, they deserve the benefit of the doubt and the unencumbered opportunity to reach their fullest potential.
Parents, however, have had their chance. They are adults (give or take every parent ever featured on MTV or VH1) who’ve they lived their lives and are what they are. At some point they decided (give or take every parent ever featured on MTV or VH1) to have a kid. Or two. Or 19. And now they have to live with that decision. They weren’t born parents, they became parents. They chose their lifestyle, they made their beds – and they deserve no quarter.
And no happiness.
When I first realized my job allowed for the occasional work-from-home day, I was thrilled. And Mom and Buried was through the roof.
After all, we had a baby due soon, and when that little guy landed, my wife was going to need all the help she could get, especially during the first few weeks and months of dealing with a newborn. So having me at home once in a while was going to be great.
What she didn’t count on was the “working” part that comes with me “working from home.”
I have a friend who is due to have his second kid any day now. I have several other friends who already have two kids, and another friend who is actively gunning for a third.
All this while my wife and I are sitting here, kinda-sorta feeling okay with just the one.
But is that okay with everyone else? More importantly, is it okay for our son? It’s the only child conundrum!
Read more about The Only Child Conundrum, Part 1: Just One Kid Is Alright. Right? …
Over the past five months my life has changed a lot, for obvious, baby-related reasons.
But over the past few years, my life has changed in other ways that have nothing to do with the ill-advised and soul-deadening decision to have a child. I’m talking about things that seem to have more to do with the fact that I am rapidly approaching my 35th birthday than the fact that I’ve added yet another mouth with its own carbon footprint to an overpopulated planet on the verge of extinction.
Problem is, with my life so wrapped up in making sure my baby lives long enough to contribute to and eventually witness the final days of the planet he will help destroy, it isn’t always easy to tell the difference between the changes that are his fault and the changes that are my rapidly deteriorating body’s fault.
So I decided to try and figure out what to blame: old age or parenthood?