I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Sometimes I worry that I love my son too much.
I was thinking about that this Christmas, when I saw the haul of toys he received from his parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles, and watched as he was indoctrinated into the Culture of More. It definitely made for a fun holiday – the joy of little kids can be contagious – but it also made me nervous.
There’s a reason we call it “spoiling.” Overindulgence breeds assholes.
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.
I went into this parenting gig with almost total ignorance, and while it’s been more fun than I anticipated, I have few illusions about the trials and tribulations to come.
In fact, based on what I’ve seen from other parents throughout my life, I fully expect the goodwill I’ve accumulated – along with the optimistm inherent to the naivete of a two year parent – to be largely exhausted and potentially completely eliminated by the time my kid is 18. Maybe even sooner.
But I’m not there yet, and I’m in no hurry to be. So I keep trucking along, only occasionally stressing about the future. Best case scenario, I end up like the parents in Easy A. Worst case? I end up like a teacher.
The title of this post is an exact quote from my wife. Thanks, honey?
It’s a borderline offensive thing to say, but she’s right. No one knew I’d be, let alone expected me to be, a great dad. Or even a good one. Not her. Not you. Least of all me.
Okay. Maybe least of all you.
Despite my best efforts, I think I’m going soft. My son is turning me into a wuss.
My wife likes to “joke” that I am a robot (I use quotes because she’s never laughing when she says it and I’m pretty sure it tears her up inside), or that I have no heart, because I never cry at commercials or movies or TV shows.
I like to think it’s because I’m not shallow and/or because my father raised me to believe that showing emotion was a sign of weakness (my father is John Wayne).
But having a child seems to be reducing my stoicism in uncomfortable ways. I’m beginning to care about people.