I love my kids, I just hate parenting
A little while back I ran a series of posts about my son’s increasing vocabulary and my attempts to decipher his mangled pronunciations.
The series petered out; not because I’m lazy (maybe a little) but because my son’s language skills are developing too fast to make those posts sustainable.
The dude knows too many words. Even worse, he can now repeat back just about everything we say.
Gulp.
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.