Wednesday, December 18, 2013

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What I Hate About Being a Dad


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I hate when my four-year-old daughter is in pain and she only wants mom, but mom is cooking, studying, working on the budget, getting ready for the day, or out of the house, so she reluctantly, with a pouty red face, settles for me.

I hate when my kids storm into the restroom while I’m doing my business.

I hate leaving for work before my kids wake up.

I hate when my six-year-old son pukes on the bathroom floor at 2AM, and I don’t want my pregnant wife to help clean it because she might get sick, so I clean it while listening to my son cry, gagging the whole time.

I hate telling my son that I can’t play soccer with him in the backyard because I have to hunch over a computer screen and grade papers.

I hate getting up in the night for drinks of water, nightmares, lost blankets, lost stuffed animals, and so on…

I hate when I tell my daughter no, and she looks up at me with a red angry face, her small fists clenched at her sides, her shoulders tensed beneath her ballerina print T-shirt, and she screams, “You’re a mean daddy!”

I hate when I ask my son about his school day and he looks up at me with dull eyes, his small hands linked, and replies, “A boy called me a nerd and pushed me.”

I hate when my kids wake me up in the morning by leaping across the bed and landing on my crotch.

I hate that my kids will not be six and four forever. 


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