I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Yesterday’s post, about teaching my son not to overreact when he’s disappointed, or startled, or gets hurt, reminded me of how far he’s come. A year ago, I wrote about how poorly the kid handled pain. He was just learning to walk then, and he was falling a lot. He’s a lot more mobile now,Read more about Zombie Post: Pain Banishment[…]
There are some aspects of parenting I think I’m probably pretty good at. Of course, they are mostly the fun ones; I’m kind of like Robin Williams in Mrs. Doubtfire before dressing in drag teaches him to be a responsible parent.
I guess that makes my wife Sally Field, which is at least a little true, because my son really really likes her. As in prefers her to everyone else.
Which is okay. It seems pretty normal at this point, and comes in handy when my son hurts himself, because playing nurse is not one of the fun things.
My son is a real baby.
Of course, by developmental standards, he’s not a baby anymore. He can “walk” and “talk” and understand things like a toddler, and he’s definitely not the size of a baby, except maybe those fat asses you see on Maury Povich and Jerry Springer. When you measure by those benchmarks, he’s a toddler.
But if you measure by his ability to withstand pain? He’s a baby, through and through.