Pretend Parenting
I’m not a perfect person. But, I like to pretend to think I am…
When we found out WE were pregnant (I LOVE that phrase), I decided I would be the best father to ever walk the face of the Earth. All men before me would pale in comparison and children would flock from all directions to be graced with by my fathering skills…
…until I didn’t get any sleep.
Then, I was an irascible a-hole with a short fuse to everyone except children and even they were suspect in my book.
That whole flocking thing? Yeah, everyone could flock off. Those perfect Stepford Dads? I hoped their fanny packs and tiny genitalia were working out for them.
But let me tell you about the moment I realized I was not the father I dreamt I would be.
On our way home from the hospital, I was driving about 5.8 miles per hour and all the honking in the world couldn’t phase me. I hadn’t slept in 72 hours but I was so wired, so hyper-alert now with my precious cargo that I could almost sense shifts in wind velocity and the flapping of butterfly wings. I imagine all the drivers here in Los Angeles were pretty stoked to have me driving my newly-minted kid home.
I found myself with shoulders at my ears, gripping the steering wheel and grimacing at people.
We all deal with parenthood differently. The lack of sleep, changes in eating habits, constant need for attention — these things influence us. Some of us filter the crazy out better than others.
But when I’d slept very few hours, had fatherly duties to fulfill and a screaming/whiny baby? Shit got real.
You don’t really know how lazy or narcissistic you are until you have kids. Honestly. And that isn’t a slight to non-parents. The reality of handling a human being totally incapable of sustaining themselves beyond a few hours — it hits home very fast. And that’s frustrating. I walked away, after tagging out with my wife to take over, more than a few times wanting to scream into a pillow.
The irony is it’s not anything your baby has control over. That’s just babies. And hunger. And tiredness. And lack of a discernible vocabulary to spell it out. And this hits close to home since I have the same problems.
But then they start walking and climbing and laughing. My older son learned to fart and then laugh upon hearing it. These things are like lakes amidst the deserts of parenthood.
So, if you find yourself angrier, sadder, tireder, fatter, uglier, bankrupt-er — I hear you. I am with you. We are with you. You don’t have to pretend with us.
Machin says: 
Colton 
