Uber Dad

That's me. Oh sure, I may be doing a shit job of it. I may be scarring the Man Cub psychologically for life. I'm certainly shaving years off the back end of my own life.

But if I'm judged by sheer parenting hours logged, I'm right up there with Atticus Finch, Pa Walton and that guy from “Courtship of Eddie's Father.” Between my working from home and the Missus' heavy teaching, writing and networking schedule, except for the few hours a week I flee the house on Wednesday mornings, I am tethered to our young padawan 24/7.

This is exacerbated by the House Policy, which is that the Man Cub must not be allowed to cry. He's like the button in the hatch on “Lost.” If we don't push it quick enough, we don't know what will happen, but oh dear sweet God, we daren't risk finding out. When he commences to shit-pitching, all household activity comes to a screeching halt, day or middle of the night. The dog and the Missus - panicked, both of them - go racing past my office door to spare The Man Cub his unfortunate discomfort, which of course makes me The Bad Guy for not instinctively doing the same.

For Christ's sake, I don't even have time to frame a coherent thought to update my blog (as this entry attests), let alone dispatch my freelance responsibilities. Which is funny, you know. Come on, laugh with me. “Bwa ha ha ha haaaa!” Funny because the more we need the money to raise the Man Cub, the less time I have to earn it.

Oh irony. Nobody told me that in gaining a son, I would be completely and totally negating my own existence. Do I sound like a woman? I definitely feel like I sound like a woman.

I can't say for sure if it takes a village to raise a man-child, but it sure takes a lot more than me, the Missus, the dog and nobody else. We literally had to have the in-laws drive 400 miles up from Los Angeles so we could go see a movie a couple weekends ago.

The saving grace (all the books assure me) is knowing that in retrospect I will cherish this experience with my son and our extensive, intensive time together. Because frankly, being right in the middle of it all, sometimes I just want to put my head in a wood chipper and hit “puree.”