I love my kids, I just hate parenting
A few years ago, in this blog’s early days, I watched a documentary called The Business of Being Born and posted a review. The movie was a one-sided piece of propaganda designed to terrify women away from hospitals and into the arms of a doula. I don’t have any problem whatsoever with the concept ofRead more about Zombie Post: Attack of the Home Birthers[…]
Everyone has been talking about stay-at-home dads.
Over the past decade or so, the amount of dads staying home to take care of the kids while their wives go off to work has gone up 78%, according to Census Bureau data reported in a recent article by the Wall Street Journal.
Some people are touting this as a kind of sea change, but I don’t care if it’s “the new normal” or a changing paradigm or some X-Men-style evolution. I’ve spent the better part of a year as a stay-at-home dad (SAHD), and I don’t like it.
Weeks ago, I wrote a facetious post about why I hate my son. Despite the title, it shouldn’t have taken long for most readers to realize the post wasn’t about hating my son at all, but was actually about how he’s changed my life and why that’s okay.
But since there are so many literal-minded people out there who got upset at the suggestion, facetious or not, that I hate my son, and also dislike the fact that I put such language out there for him to one day discover, I thought – even at the risk of over-boarding on cheese – I should lay it out as sincerely as possible.
I mean, it is his birthday after all!
It’s so much easier to be fat.
Okay, maybe it’s not easier to actually BE fat. But it’s definitely easier to GET fat.
And it’s a definitely piece of cake (or three) to let your kids get fat. Feeding them is headache enough even when it’s food they like, but you start putting nutrition into the mix and it becomes [insert hilarious Hunger Games reference here].
It’s so much easier to just let him have the damn french fries again.
I may be a lot of things. I may be 34. I may be a Dolphins fan. I may be the funniest person my wife has ever met.
But I am not a pretender.
So I’m not gonna sit here and pretend the Fins will make the playoffs. I’m not gonna try to convince you I’m hilarious. I’m not gonna deny (anymore) that I’m actually 36. And I’m not gonna pretend I’ve accomplished all the goals I set out for myself.
And I’m not gonna pretend that matters much to me these days either.