I love my kids, I just hate parenting
Kids say the darndest things. They also say the ballsiest things. Things only kids can say.
If I went around talking to my wife, my boss, my friends, anyone the way that my son often talks to his mother, to me, to his friends, strangers on the subway? I’d be divorced, fired, and drinking totally alone. Which might not be that bad, now that I think about it…
Children get away with a lot of stuff, especially in the early years.
For example…
When we first got The Hammer home, we marveled at how quiet he was. That was a fun half hour!
Turns out he’s actually loud, especially when he hits the so-called “witching hour,” which is the technical term for that specific period of the day when your baby really wants you to know he’s pissed about this whole “not in the womb” thing and he blames YOU.
My five-year-old is more of a whiner, but really, what’s the difference? It’s all a bunch of high-pitched squealing. Even Mom and Buried is a little emotional lately, which is understandable. Her hormones must be going crazy, just a few weeks after giving birth and also with all the catching-up-on-drinking she’s gotta do!
Lately, I’m just surrounded by criers. So I decided to have some fun with it.
Over the weekend, someone on my Facebook page told me that because I use the Cry It Out method, I’d broken my son’s trust in me, and another said I was cruel and heartless. These were people I’ve never met, who have never met my son, who have never been privy to my relationship with my son, who have no earthly idea what actually went down, how my son reacted, what the circumstances were, etc.
I don’t get offended very often, or by very much. But being told by complete strangers that I am damaging my relationship with one of my kids and that I don’t care about his well-being because they don’t agree with the way I sleep-train? That got me.
Judge me for crying it out. Judge me for letting my kids watch too much TV, for giving them too many toys, for co-sleeping or calling them assholes on my blog or vaccinating them or using my phone when I’m with them at the playground. I don’t care. Some of that is probably valid.
But don’t question my love for my son(s!).
Read more about Benefit of the Doubt …
If things go according to plan, today will be my last day as the father of an only child. More importantly, tomorrow will be the first day of my son’s life as a big brother.
While Mom and Buried and I are learning all over again what it’s like to live with a newborn, my son will be exploring the brave new world of being a big brother. There will be jealousy. There will be territorial spats. Eventually, if his relationship with his brother is anything like every other sibling relationship, there will be wrestling.
Hopefully, there will not be blood.
Five years ago, two weeks before Detective Munch was born, I wrote a post about whether I felt ready to be a parent. I did not feel ready. I knew nothing about babies, and the fact that I thought babies were the hard part proves I knew nothing about parenting.
In that sense, nothing has changed. I still don’t know what I’m doing, and it’s been long enough since I’ve held a newborn and changed a diaper that I might as well be starting over.
Next week, after five years of being a dad and (give-or-take) four years since I’ve had a baby to care for, we’re hitting the reset button.