I love my kids, I just hate parenting
I could hear them talking in the other room.
My wife’s voice was soft, nearly whispering. My son’s voice, on those rare occasions when he interjected, was uncharacteristically tentative, uncertain and wary. I stopped listening. I knew what was being discussed.
My wife has multiple sclerosis. And she was explaining it to him.
Last weekend was St. Patrick’s Day. This weekend (and next) is March Madness. Those are major drinking occasions. But they have nothing on parenting! This week on the Dad and Buried podcast, I crack a beer (Pete abstains; he’s doing Dryuary in March because he’s an idiot) and we get into drinking while parenting. YouRead more about Drinking While Parenting[…]
My oldest son is 8 years old, smart as a whip, sensitive like his mom and a smart-ass like his dad. He’s imaginative and excitable, he loves to read and play video games, and he hates sports.
He also has trouble focusing and sitting still, and he often has out-sized emotional reactions to minor incidents.
After years of being frustrated by what I considered his immaturity and spoiled entitlement, I now know that much of his most challenging behavior is a manifestation of his ADHD.
My instinct is to joke about it. To make fun of the whole thing, to poke fun at the people who fall for it, to bemoan the dumb victims and their bad parents.
But he whole thing is so twisted it makes my stomach churn. These are little kids.
No matter how desperately I wish it were funny, the Momo Challenge isn’t a joke. Real or not, the prospect is terrifying.
Parenting is hard.
Everyone knows this. Parents know, the child-free know, even kids know. They don’t care, but they know.
Caring for and raising and protecting and molding and teaching another human being, from scratch, is mentally taxing, physically exhausting, expensive, boring, and stressful. Even if you think it’s the greatest thing in the world, you can’t deny how challenging it is.
So why do we lie about it?