Sunday, September 9, 2012

Becoming my father: PART 2

Today’s blog is another installment of my ongoing series on me turning into my father. According to Science, to be a father you must be irritated at least 85% of the time. That leaves you 9% of the time to be furious, 5% of the time to be sleeping and 1% of the time to be perfectly content because your kid is asleep and – for one fleeting moment – quiet prevails. If you’re not irritated 85% percent of the time, you’re probably a Sunday father or a godfather or Father Time or whatever, but you’re not a real father.

Junior and I went to the grocery store the other day and I wore flip flops, which I had mistakenly thought were safe to wear grocery shopping. Junior was sitting in the cart and as we were checking out, he snatched a “family” size can of clam chowder and dropped it directly onto my toe.

“Just what is your problem?” I demanded while hopping on one foot.

He just smiled his adorable baby smile and grabbed another can.

“He’s so cute!” said the grocery clerk.

“You shut up!”

I was feeding him the other day and he was making his displeasure known by spitting food everywhere.

“He doesn’t like it,” my wife said.

“He doesn’t like it?” I ranted. “If he doesn’t like it then he can get a job, get up early and go to work everyday and buy his own stupid food. Then he can have sweet potatoes and mangoes all day, everyday, no problem. But until that time, HE’S HAVING PEAS!”

Another big part of being a father is giving “life lessons” and having extensive knowledge on “real life” and “the real world.”

“So you don’t like peas?” I continued. “I wish I could just sit around and do just what I like all day. Oh yes! Wouldn’t that be nice? But that’s not real life!”

Junior just cocked his head and looked at me as if to say, “I have not yet fully acquired your language, but I’m getting the vibe that you’re kinda crazy. Perhaps more than ‘kinda.’”

Whenever I put my son in his crib for a nap, he flails, flops around and howls like I’ve dropped him into an anthill, which totally blows my mind. Why would one resist taking a nap in the middle of the day? I don’t see what there is to complain about. A baby doesn’t have anything on his “to do” list but (1) eat, (2) poop and (3) pull all the Kleenex out of the box and sprinkle them throughout the house. And then he gets to take a nap. Two a day, even. That sounds amazing. I’d give my right arm to take two naps a day.

If there were some kind of right-arm-for-napping-privileges exchange program, that is.

What are some other things that all dads do? Leave a comment, if you like.