Storytelling

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My Dropping Maturity Level As A Parent Of A Toddler

July 23, 2012 at 6:09 am , by 

20 months.

I’m so proud. Over the weekend someone found The Dadabase by Googling, “Is it ok for son to watch dad pee?”

I’m becoming the go-to guy for that now on the Internet.

Nice. Just call me Mr. Oversharent.

It’s inevitable that by the time your kid reaches my son’s age, you can only be so classy and sophisticated; potty humor is definitely in heavy rotation in the conversations now at our house.

By default, your maturity level as a parent of a toddler has to drop in order to do the job right.

Normally in public or on the Internet I wouldn’t use words like “pee-pee” or “poo poo” or even notice that one of those phrases sort of requires a hyphen while the other does not.

But as a parent speaking to other fellow parents, whether in private or in public, it becomes necessary to resort to these types of topics if I want to keep a natural and relevant conversation flowing.

(Yes, “flowing” was used as a pun just then.)

Beyond talking about the current color of Number One or the consistency of Number Two, I still find myself thinking like a much less mature version of myself.

Yes, I do myself a favor by trying to mentally time travel back to what my thought process was like in the early 80′s.

I have to. How else will I help my son keep himself constantly entertained?

Like actually encouraging him to play with a cup of ice water and a plastic spoon when we’re out at restaurants. It’s a great distraction for him while his parents attempt to eat.

Or during playtime at the house, telling him, “Look Jack, the chicken likes to ride on top of the pig, and the pig likes to ride on top of the cow, and the cow likes to ride on top of the horse.”

After demonstrating to my son how his plastic barnyard animal toys like to move around the farm, the way things obviously occurs in nature, Jack then repeats the moronic behavior I just taught him; animals moving across the floor like a vertical train.

Though technically, that’s not immature, it’s just plain absurd. It clearly denies gravity and physics; I’m pretty sure.

The point is this: The new version of normal once you become the parent of a toddler means you embraces potty humor and weird Willy Wonka kind of stuff.

This parenthood thing is turning into one long, strange trip. I think I see dancing bears in all the colors of the rainbow.

Never mind, that’s just my son’s coloring book.

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Parents’ Day 2012: Why We Really Are(n’t) Heroes

July 22, 2012 at 3:32 pm , by 

20 months.

Watching news coverage of the Aurora shooting reminds me of what a true hero says when they are asked the cliche TV interviewer question, “Would you consider yourself a hero?”

The person always responds with, “I’m no hero. I saw someone who needed help so I helped them. No, I’m not a hero.”

When we see these stories where everyday citizens help save the lives of a strangers in the midst of an accident or a tragedy, which in this case meant pulling injured victims to safety out of the line of fire in that movie theatre, we feel gratitude knowing that there are people all around us willing to become real life heroes when the moment arises.

Just like the way a real leader doesn’t have to go around proclaiming their authority, nor does a real hero announce their deeds.

Today is Parents’ Day. (Yes, it is an actual American holiday.)

Most of us have probably never ran inside a burning building to save someone’s life. But as parents, we’re still saving someone’s life everyday.

We sacrifice a whole lot to not only keep our children alive each day (which is sort of the bare minimum goal) but are also constantly teaching them how to survive when we’re not around. And when I say “survive” I don’t just mean physically.

I also mean socially and psychologically. Without our guidance, instruction, and discipline, how would they function?

Yet, do we really consider ourselves as heroes? I sure don’t. My child needs my help so I help him. That’s it.

You can’t refuse to take care of your child because then you wouldn’t be a parent anymore.

But I say, you are a parent, and therefore, you are a hero. You are Supermom. You are Superdad.

Even if you won’t admit it.

 

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I, Too, Was Once An Angry Zombie Dad

July 22, 2012 at 12:45 pm , by 

20 months.

During the first 15 months of my son’s life, I was essentially in survival mode.

No matter how positively I narrated this thing, I felt like a souvenir mug that had fallen on the floor, shattered, and then was superglued back together. Everyday.

I was never really one of those dads who went around saying, “I love being a dad! It’s tough, but when you come home at the end of the day and see that ‘little you’ looking up at you with those big eyes, it makes it all worth it.”

Yeah, that was never something I said nor thought. (Especially because my son is not a mini-me.)

Ah, but then my son turned the magical age of 15 months old. My life instantly got better!

Since then, I’ve been getting a better understanding now of why people enjoy being a parent; not just simply learning to deal with their new, demanding responsibilities.

Everyone has their own struggles and “default sins.” One of mine is greed. Not really with material possessions, but with my time.

If you’re familiar with the popular book, The Five Love Languages, then it’s important to note that “quality time” is probably my main love language.

When you become a parent and begin caring for an infant, the concept of quality time basically ceases to exist.

I was so disgruntled by the fact that my wife and I had to sacrifice meaningful conversations that didn’t revolve around our son, as well as, just even getting to hang out with each other on the couch and watch a movie without hearing that annoying “baby buzzer” going off.

Despite being a very outgoing guy, I’d say I’m just as much an introvert as I am an extrovert. I require a decent amount of solitude to function properly, where my deep and random thoughts can be born. So yeah, that pretty much went out the window too when my wonderful son arrived.

But once we were brave enough to incorporate “the cry it out method“ for our son and he instantly started sleeping through the night, we began getting our lives back.

When my son turned 15 months old, he started making me feel validated as a parent. It was like on Lost, realizing that pressing the button in the hatch every 108 minutes actually mattered and did good.

I finally began seeing a connection between my input as a parent and his output as a child. Man, I needed that.

My zombie days are over. I paid my dues. I have earned the right to have a magnificent son who daily plays “Props” on Whose Line Is It Anyway? with me.

I get to watch him do weird stuff like put a plastic rabbit on top of a toy car as if it’s normal.

And he depends on me to fix his hair in the morning and scare him with a Spiderman mask during playtime.

Oh, and have I mentioned that he loves learning how to “go pee-pee” by watching me? I’m not sure if I’ve written about that before, but don’t worry, there’s plenty more “watching Dada pee-pee” material coming up soon.

But hey, I’d rather being an oversharenting parent than an angry zombie dad.

Grrrrrr! Sorry, just had a flashback…

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What Is A “Dad Sabbatical” And Why Does It Just Feel Wrong?

July 21, 2012 at 3:35 pm , by 

20 months.

Any minute now, my wife Jill and my son Jack will be landing in Philadelphia, then driving about an hour to a place called Downington.

One of my wife’s sisters and her family lives there and is having a surprise birthday party weekend; unless this blog post spoils the surprise. Awkward…

I will pick them up again on Wednesday from the airport. Until then, it’s just me here.

It’s only been a few hours but it already feels like Chernobyl.

Normally if I’m sitting in my living room writing a blog post on a Saturday afternoon, hearing nothing but silence, it means that any second Jack will be waking up from his token 40 minute Saturday afternoon nap.

Well, it’s been more than 40 minutes now.

I thought I heard him cry a minute ago but it was just a poodle in the townhouse next to us.

This is my “dad sabbatical.” It’s pretty weird so far.

Granted, I am happy that my wife will get to enjoy these next several days with her sisters she rarely gets to see; no thanks to scientists who have yet failed to invent a practical teleportation device, despite us all living a dozen years past the year 2000.

(No flying cars or hover-boards yet, either. Back To Future Part II made it very clear what life is going to be like in the year 2015. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do!)

Her side of the family will get to meet Jack the Toddler; as opposed to Jack the Infant, who they met a year ago when we all met up in Sacramento where they are all originally from.

It worked out better for me to stay here in Nashville this time around.

(Especially if the rumor is true that we may both need to use a couple vacation days next month to make an appearance on a morning talk show on NBC. Oh well, I probably just now jinxed that for us. Now it won’t happen. Great.)

You would think I would appreciate this “time to purposely do nothing” more than I do. But I’m still in culture shock right now.

Sure, I miss them both tremendously. Right now I feel emotionally exactly what I’m supposed to.

But also, I feel guilty.

For nearly 2 years I have constantly been a dad. No pause button. And for 4 years, I’ve been a husband. No more than just a few nights apart due to the occasional business trip.

And now for half a week, I will have no real responsibilities as a husband or a dad. Yeah, it just feels wrong.

Okay, time to go see Batman. Because that’s what a 31 year-old dad on sabbatical evidently is supposed to do with his free time.

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Playing Props On Whose Line Is It Anyway? Toddler Edition

July 20, 2012 at 11:01 pm , by