It’s actually quite nice when your child is a *little* bit ill… and five other things you’re not supposed to admit about parenting As a dad of two (a toddler and a baby), please people… let's just cut the crap and finally admit that we're basically all dreadful parents
People who don't have children are the WORST.
True, I'm largely saying that out of the envy I feel when I look at their happy, carefree, well-rested faces. But it's also because I still - very vaguely - remember what I was like before my kids arrived in the world.
And man, was I a naive idiot.
I used to assume the posts I'd see from parents on social media - those not-at-all-carefully-choreographed photos of smiling, happy, content families topped with suspiciously mushy messages made up of way too many heart emojis - were a realistic portrayal of life with babies.
Which, of course, they weren't. As I now know, these posts mostly come from frazzled parents trying to convince themselves they are genuinely living that social media fantasy of young family life (cute cuddles, angelic smiling faces on the first day of big school, "love this boy so much it hurts xxxxxxxxxxx"), rather than the real-life version (screaming tantrums, handfuls of poo, answering the existential question 'WHY?' 743 times a day).
In short, life as a parent is HARD. So - as a father of two small boys (the eldest is nearly three, the youngest is nine months and yes, I AM very tired, thanks for asking) - can I ask that we finally stop pretending that we're all great, wonderful parents?
Life would be so much easier if we would all just admit that parental perfection is impossible and embrace the occasionally, er, 'questionable' thoughts we all have…Don't get me wrong, I'm not a monster.
I've had that same panic you've had when your kid's forehead feels like you could fry an egg on it and every little red dot on their torso is absolutely, definitely, 100 percent the first bit of a meningitis rash. I've done the late night hospital dash and checked in on my boy every few minutes after he's gone to bed because he's got a fever and I simply need to make sure he's still breathing.
That's when they're really sick. Genuinely, properly unwell and you just want to make them feel better. When they are probably operating at 50 percent of their normal, bubbly, (annoyingly) energetic selves. That's the time to worry.
But what about when they're at, say, 70-80 percent? When they're just a bit… MEH. When there's something hanging around them - The Toddler Malaise, as my brother calls it - but they are clearly in no mortal danger.
When they don't want to bounce off the walls, but want to cuddle up with you on the sofa. When they don't want to chase dogs in the park, but just want a little lie down in front of Toy Story.
Show me a parent who doesn't have a barely discernible smile on their face as they turn the telly on, and I'll show you a liar.Immediate clarification for anyone from social services reading this: I have never ACTUALLY believed that my child is the son of Satan.
But let's face it, the mind of a parent whose kid is in the midst of an epic tantrum can be a troubling place.
Example thought process:
"Maybe I could just leave and go to the pub. Maybe I could just leave and start a new life in Bali. Maybe I could just fill that sink with water and stick my head in there until he either stops screaming or I pass out…"
TV is a brilliant parenting tool and anyone who says otherwise deserves to be locked in a room with a tantrum-throwing toddler for the rest of eternity
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