Oh Yeah, Did I Mention Our New Kid?
Thursday, February 25, 2010 posted by Henri
Yeah we’ve gone zone defense. Tres kids. I had this great idea to blog more with the birth of my third child, to document the first year of his life with great detail in order to preciously encapsulate his entry into this mad crazy world.
What the hell was I smoking.
You know, going from zero to one child is definitely the hardest. It reshapes your entire identity. I don’t give a damn who the hell you were before that, you’re now a parent. Blahblahblah. Now you’d think going from one to two would be about twice the work of one…
Going from one kid to two kids is definitely 2.378 times the work of one (that‘s a period not a comma). I can show you the calculations.
Now going from two to three….definitely not as bad as I had feared…..but still bad. You get into this strange antediluvian property of the oldest child being able to actually assist you in the day-to-day tasks necessary during parenthood.
“Son, hold this.”
“Son, grab the fire extinguisher”
“Son, hold the steering wheel for a second”
“Son, hit the raccoon for real this time”
“Son, is my head bleeding a lot or just a little, my vision is temporarily suspended”
“Son, dial 911 on the real phone not the Wall-E phone”
“Son, I’m not going to tell you again…yes that was a real alligator, now get me Mr. BooBoo”
“Son, what did I just eat?”
Four-year-olds can do all kinds of shit. Unless they’re sleepy. When they’re sleepy they’re like little Tony Montanas at the end of Scarface reeling around the room looking for more effective weapons. Fortunately I am immune to nerf.
What was I saying?
Oh yeah, three. We had our third baby. Our last planned kid. And in one way it’s a relief. We can finally see the end of the tunnel for this stage of parenting. The diapers, the bottles, the sleep training, the childcare issues for newborns, the herniated belly buttons, the gallons of spit-up, the nuclear bomb shelter stockpile of industrially pumped breast milk. But in another way, it’s so so sad. Have you ever tried to shove a four year old into a Bjorn? It’s embarrassing on many levels and functionally almost impossible.
I can hold my baby in my arms, like a football. I can run really fast with him like this. I can hurdle immense objects like stray juice box straws with the greatest of ease. I can wear him while playing my PS3 and still rain pwnge on yoooob like failgravy from the gods of mt. pwnlympus.
I’m going to miss this baby. His balding head like mine. Oh crap yeah that’s another thing I’m freaking going bald. Wait I have to save this for another post.
His puny yet unnamed fists (mine are named Thelma and Louise but that’s neither here nor there).
His little baby faces of indignation when confronted with the injustices of this world. Like zomg what’s this feeling before I shart? Or the ever present, am I being stabbed or am I hungry?
You kind of wish you could revisit all of the ages of your children at your leisure. When they’re on a two week Vegas bender in your stolen car at the age of 13, it would be nice to make them infants again. When you’re trying to get a Phil&Ted’s onto the BART and Mr. No-I’m-Not-Going-To-Move-For-You-Because-As-You-Can-Tell-By-My-Briefcase-I-Am-Kinda-A-Big-Deal isn’t getting out of your way, it would be nice to switch them into something a little more mobile….like 27ish maybe.
Mostly I’d probably keep switching from 4 months to 4 years unless I needed to really get something off the top shelf. Damn kids I hope you grow bigger than me. Parental Hint: Don’t start smoking at 13.
And to be honest, I’m going to miss myself at this stage.
A young father is like a drunk bear. Indomitable spirit and full of fight. Possibly lacking his bearings a bit, but fierce like a 40 year old gay man in a Twilight t-shirt. You cannot domitable me because I am indomitable. You see I am way too young at this stage of my life to know how things will end up…so I am going to assume they end up swimmingly. And you can’t change my mind on this. I know that through hard work and sacrifice, I will absolutely succeed in every single damn thing I ever casually attempt in this world and I will shine like a damn supernova.
See all that crap I just typed. Only a young father could believe that shit. And I do. And this is the charming smarmy bastard I am going to miss the most. Me at 37, raising a family.
Before I lose the last of my hair.
Before that vacation home in Healdsburg never materializes.
Before I fail to retire at 47.
Before my kids think I was an OK Dad but a little too into the blogging thing.
Before my wife one day says she made the “smartest” choice in marrying me
Before my Ferrari never gets here.
Before I realize that my kids friends think I’m that Dad that tries too hard to be cool.
Before I’m the oldest guy at the club.
Before my kids don’t go to UCLA
Before I stop laughing at how ridiculous these sentences are.
Before I grow up maybe.
Being a Father makes it so. And at this moment
I know, in my relative youth, that I will miss the man that I am today.
A father who believed for a moment that
with his family in tow,
he could never fail.