The wife and I have two kids, putting us on the precarious cusp of being outnumbered. And since we’re already scrambling as it is, I had the vasectomy to nip that bud in the buds.
Over the past few years, I’ve learned that my kids hold an unfair advantage. They come from a place of pure helplessness and innocent ignorance. And therefore, as a relatively reasonable, rutting earthling breeder, I’m obligated to expect absolutely nothing from them. To make matters worse, I feel overwhelmingly compelled to love them and feed them and ultimately keep them from chewing on rusty nails and dying. Even rats and roaches feel this.
Oh, how I wish I still had somebody to unequivocally fawn and dote all over me. My parents, of course, used to do this. But then I had kids, giving them grandkids. And FOOM! Suddenly all those cuddles and kisses and Little Debbie Snack Cakes got instantly diverted. My wife used to mother me, too.
Kyle has the flu. Before kids.
“Aw, honey-poo. Here’s some soupy soup and a cool towel for your forehead. You just relax and watch the Bob Barker girls.”
Kyle has the flu. Since kids.
“How long are you gonna milk this? I’ll leave the dishes in the sink for when you have enough strength to stop being such a pussy.”
Meanwhile, my daughter gets a cookie for flushing the toilet.
The sickest part is that since kids function primarily on instinct, they are actually pretty intuitive. More so than us pea-brained grownups. My kids have developed this basic, simple approach and now use it to slap me around.
Me: What’re you doing?
Girl: Hopping on one foot.
Me: Practicing for what?
Girl: Hopping on one foot.
It’s like she’s just toying with me. See how masterfully she can lead me to befuddled silence? I never see it coming.
“Children are smarter than any of us. Know how I know that?
I don’t know one child with a full time job and children.”
– Bill Hicks
Now, it’s not that I want to be a kid again. Far from it. I like driving my truck and being able to appreciate things like beer and broccoli and boobies.
To be honest, I’m just jealous. I’m jealous of all those things I once enjoyed but was forced to bequeath the moment my kids were born. I miss the free time. I miss the gold stars. I miss falling on my face and having someone pick me back up. I know my wife misses that stuff, too. But now it’s our job to hand out the gold stars and peel clumsy people off the concrete.
You know, I guess if I have anything to learn from this, it’s that I need to remember to treat my wife as a child.
I need to pick her up when she’s down. I need to give her cuddles and kisses when she’s feeling alone. I need give her love and soupy soup and Little Debbie Snack Cakes. And I need to make sure that my kids see it all happen, too. They may be the center of our universe, but they must understand that they’re not the only things in the universe. Their Mommy just so happens to be a big big part of my universe – and she has been since before they were even accidentally born.
And besides, she’s got boobies. So, chalk one up for Mommy.