Don't Give Me A Break

Father's Day. Also known as A Day To Give Dad A Break. And I get that. It's nice to not have any responsibilities and let other people (okay, okay ... since the kids are still young, this basically means my wife) handle things for me. Cards are kinda whatever to me; I'm going to throw them away within a day or two, but I generally appreciate the intent behind them. Stereotypical Father's Day gifts don't make me swoon, either. Another power tool and more grilling supplies just sound like more work to do in the future. And I know everybody's different and I know this might not be normal, but I'd rather not have the day off from parenting.

So please, don't give me a break.

Give me the absurdly disgusting diapers (yes, even the ones that make me dry heave). The behind-the-ears scrubbings. The autoimmune disorders and the allergies. The dropping off at school and picking back up.

Make me dry their tears. And their dishes. And their feet after yet another (very, very necessary) bath in the same day.

Let me deal with their stubbornness and their hurt feelings and their constant need to create things regardless of the mess left behind.

Give me the scary episodes of croup in the middle of so many nights. The decreased personal time and increased personal weight. The flabbergasting way they have of not obeying their mother for hours (yet somehow it all clicks the moment I am pulling into the driveway at the end of the day - like, really?!).

Give me the higher cost of living. The responsibility for helping shape their worldviews. The nightly book reading when I am ready to fall asleep myself.

Because I have no idea what it is like to change Kyla's diapers. I don't know if she had any diseases or allergies. I'll never give her a bath - I had an opportunity to, but I passed it up because her dead body freaked me out. I'll never get to take her to school or surprise her by picking her up after getting out of work early.

I'll never get to comfort her in my arms while she cries. I'll never get to teach her how to unscrew a lid or read a book or put dishes away or take a bath. I'll never get to help her understand her emotions and how to express them and control them.

I know, same old whining. But it doesn't go away. It doesn't get better. The busyness and fulfillment of 3 living children and a full time job and enjoying life with my amazing wife can tend to mask it. But it's still there, and as I've said before: it's just as deep and just as dark and just as terrifying.

So don't take any of my parenting away from me, especially not on Father's Day. Because that's one of the days I can use to really remember and appreciate that I get to do those things. There's an alternative out there that I'm also very aware of, and that sucks WAY worse.