I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Part 1 of the Only Child Condundrum dealt with the impact that having just one kid might have on that kid.
For Part 2, let’s forget about my son and his infinite potential for disappointing me for a minute. Instead, let’s talk about how having more than one kid might affect me and my wife.
Read more about The Only Child Conundrum, Part 2: Is It Selfish to Have Just One? …
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? …
Thankfully, he won’t remember teething.
He won’t remember shoving his fists in his mouth and chewing on his tiny fingers, just to get some relief. He won’t remember his parents’ frustration and exasperation as they attempted to diagnose and then treat what appeared to be a totally phantom issue (like so many of them are). He won’t even remember the blissful relief a few drops of Baby Orajel afforded him, but that probably has less to do with his unformed brain and more to do with the fact that Baby Orajel doesn’t do shit.
No, he won’t remember the days weeks months of pain that came with the slow emergence of his first teeth. But neither will Mom and Buried and I forget them anytime soon.
I can’t wait until he’s ready to lose his baby teeth in a few years, because at the first sign of a wiggle I am going to pull them out and grind them into dust!
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?
My son hit the eleven-week mark yesterday.
The bigger news is that he hit the 13 pound mark a few weeks ago. Upon crossing the 12-pound Rubicon (WHY DID THEY CANCEL “RUBICON”?!), our pediatrician told use that he was perfectly capable of sleeping through the night without needing to be fed. “Twelve hours. I know it sounds tough,” she said, “and it is, but you have to establish the routine.”
Apparently he needs to learn to soothe and sedate himself, even if it means crying himself hoarse, and it won’t be until he gets to college that he’ll learn all the fun ways to do that!
Until then, “Crying It Out” is the way to go…or is it?