It’s shortly after 8:00 pm, and my six-month-old, Nicholas, is inconsolable.
He’s been changed, fed and burped. He’s been read to in a soothing, upbeat tone in comedic contrast to his panicky, bloody-murder shrieks. He is up on my shoulder, snug in his sleep sack, wailing away as I gently pat his back.
My voice drops to a half-notch above a whisper as I nuzzle my mouth next to Nicholas’ ear.
“It’s all gonna be OK,” I promise, unconvincingly.
It will all be OK. This, like all moments big and small, shall pass. You’ll settle down, do your adorable little stretch-yawn, and sleep. And when you wake up, you’ll have the benefit, exclusive to infancy, of having remembered none of this trauma.
It will all be OK. Considering the desperate or downtrodden environments into which you could have been born, you lucked out. You have two married parents, each of whom has good jobs. You …
I’m a parent. But this isn’t work. This is my family. This is what I’m working for.
I’ve been reading a lot of posts on Facebook from parents struggling to have “the talk” with their children.
I didn’t find it that hard.
My daughter started asking questions when she was nine, always when we were in the car with her three-year-old sister. I had the best educated three-year-old in the country.
I kept expecting to …
My seven-year-old woke me up.
“Why are you waking me up in the middle of the night?” I asked.
“It’s the morning, Mommy.” she said.
So it was.
My body was 3am-tired and my head was muddled. I couldn’t remember what I had been dreaming, but I halfway remembered getting really silly the night before.
“Silly?” I asked myself. “Why would I get silly?”
After I was dressed and had a cup of coffee, I went online and saw it: Facebook activity. Tons of it. Right around midnight the night before. The coffee helped me wake up and piece together what happened.
This is the 40-something Mom version of Girls Gone Wild.
The party started in my bed. I was sitting up in my bed, typing on my laptop. I was alone. I was drinking.
I was drinking Deep Eddy’s Sweet Tea Vodka with water over ice. This is my favorite drink for after the kids are in bed. …
I came late to texting. I resisted getting a smartphone for the longest time, knowing that once I did I would never escape work again (which was true). Although I love my smartphone, I do sometimes miss the days when I was physically capable of walking away from my work email account.
Even when I finally stepped on the smartphone train, I continued to abstain from the world of texting. I didn’t see the need for communication that a phone call or an email couldn’t fill.
And then my daughter went to college. Let me tell you, I am now the biggest fan of texting you’ve ever met. I’ll tell random people how great it is that I can have a quick, non-intrusive conversation with my daughter any time I want.
And she’ll write me back and share all sorts of details about her life… with me! Her mom!
I text her all the …
At a baseball game with my daughters I was doing my usual curmudgeonly act: gritching about the heat, the boorish behavior of the people around us, the extortionary cost of food and beverages…my usual GET OFF MY LAWN! litany.
My daughter was listening with perhaps a slight air of, “There she goes again….”
“Where’s your phone?” my 6-year-old asks me.
“In my purse, why?”
“Because I want to play it,” he says.
I give him a weird look, because he paused his game on the iPad to ask me. “How is my phone different than the iPad?”
“Oh. I forgot I was playing the iPad.”
Are you kidding me?
…you get excited for Mommy convention instead of your past favorite conventions.
…you go crazy find the best organic food for your little ones.
…you can stand in the company of female colleagues as a proud dad and discuss potty training, breast feeding, colic, feeding schedules, nap time rituals, doctors’ visits and a myriad of other parental challenges, and be seen as just another parent with a legitimate perspective.
…you get the chance to take a shower for five minutes and it feels like a spa treatment.
…your child doesn’t understand why all existing TV shows can’t be viewed on demand.
…your two year old acts out, then puts HERSELF in the naughty chair, and finally… poses for a picture on your phone.
…your child’s birth story includes a donor, a lab, and a doctor.
…you overhear two moms at the playground talking about inducing their baby’s births so they would be born before the school cut off date.
…your daughter sets up your smartphone.
Last weekend I graduated to my first ever smartphone. I was excited but a little nervous about having such a fancy machine.
My daughter had gotten wind that I had a new phone. “Mommy, can I use it please? Please?” She jumped up and down. “My friends have …
…you email the tooth fairy to prove to your child that the tooth fairy is, in fact, real.
At the farmers market, your four-year-old daughter asks the face painter, “Does this paint have chemicals in it?”
…you look forward to your kids’ bath time as free time when you can catch up on your Twitter feed.