I love my kids, I just hate parenting
When you’re a parent, you take on a lot of roles.
You’re still the person you were before you were a parent (to varying degrees), but now you’re also the person your kid knows as Mommy or Daddy. And then you’re the million different things your kid needs you to be over the course of the day.
If this were a resume it would 30 pages long.
Nothing is more joyous than getting your kids to bed for the night.
Unfortunately, when their bedtime routine is finally completed, you’re usually too spent to take advantage.
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.
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.