There are times I hate* being a Dad

It was 3.42 on a Friday afternoon as I lay flat on my back in what was the remnants of my man cave surrounded by duplo, cars, balls and other assorted toys. The tv was blaring a song from Play School. I blinked my eyes and above me loomed H with a trail of thick yellow snot oozing from his left nostril and a wooden hammer in his hand.

“This is it.” I thought to myself. The bitter taste of defeat stung the inside of my lips.

“He’s beaten me. I’ve had enough. Where’s BWM? Come home and save me!” I screamed silently to the world.

I needed to move or I was going to wear the hammer in H’s hand. I could see his hand twitching upward and I braced. His hand held still though and he dropped forward putting both his knees into my ribs and flopping on top of me for what turned out to be a sooky-la-la cuddle with his dad. I reached for a tissue and he raised his head but the booger was gone – no doubt somewhere on me.

No longer could I feel defeated. Here was my son at the end of the week exhausted and wanting to cuddle into his dad because he was sick. We’d been to the doctor twice in the week and I hate taking him to the doctor. I’m not sure if H hates it? Although he does scream the house down before turning around and attempting to open the surgery door so he can leave (lucky he’s not quite tall enough yet!). From that point on he’s usually all charm until the doctor goes near to him again. Then the screaming starts anew! Yes, I hate being a Dad who is going to the doctor with his son.

I must admit I truly hate seeing my son sick. He’s had swabs that have said he’s had a flu virus and rhinovirus (a cold) as well as conjunctivitis. His nose has been a constant eruption of snot and his eyes weren’t much better for a couple of days. I know that him getting sick means he is growing his immune system and he’ll be better off for it in the long run. It doesn’t mean I can't hate it.

While I’m on my train of hate here - I really hate seeing my son ignore his food when it’s presented to him. I’m not talking fruit or vegetables. This is a kid who helps himself to the fruit bowl if we accidently leave it within reach and vegetables disappear from his plate and into his mouth as if by magic. No it’s his proteins. He’ll pick away at his chicken nuggets, sausages, fish fingers and such like. I’ve even watched him pull stuffing out of ravioli so he can eat just the plain pasta. I'm a man and I want to see my son eat his meat! I know he’ll get there but I still hate it.

On the subject of hating things – I’m really not a big fan of losing. After a loss I’ve been known to be moody and grumpy for hours, days and weeks at a time. And that’s just after a game of scrabble with BWM! It’s even worse when my rugby teams lose as we did on the weekend (although a couple of them still scraped into the finals I still hate the fact we lost the games. Making it worse too was the one team which won missed out on the finals by not getting a bonus point – that’s definitely something to hate!). Needless to say there will come a time in my son’s life when I’m going to have to teach him how to lose. I won’t hate doing that but I’m definitely not looking forward to it.

Finally though I’ve saved my biggest hate of all for the caboose of the hate train. The one thing that I really, Really, REALLY hate about being a Dad! It’s the fact that I’ve had to break a lifetime habit of leaving the toilet seat up. Quite simply I hate having to put it down all the time!

Now I’ve had my dummy spit I know it really isn’t that bad. If that’s all there is that I dislike about being a dad then in the words of my mate The Dunph (who stole the quote from the Simpsons) “You’re the richest man I know.”

*I originally didn’t want to use ‘hate’ in this blog post. However, the sub-editor in me wanted to get people hooked with the headline so I struck out dislike, aversion, distaste, repugnance, abhorrence, displeasure and all the other synonyms I could find and went with the four letter word.  Isn’t the headline all about getting you to read it anyway!

Back Lessons

 It’s not much fun being a stay at home dad when your back has gone. It’s made this week pretty horrible because I realise how much I do with my son and how much I love doing it. Because of my back injury I sustained on Monday morning I was able to use the week to teach H the valuable lesson, there is no use crying over spilt milk, as well as learning something important myself. How does that all relate you ask? Shall we go ‘back’ in the story?

How did I do my back? Long story short – 5 years ago I put my back out closing the door of the front loader washing machine and since then I’ve had a few times where I’ve tweaked it. Since that moment I’ve always had a fear of doing laundry. How did it happen this time? Did my infant son beat me in a wrestling match? Was I showing him a cool new acrobatic trick? Was I doing laundry? Not directly - I was bending over to help him get off his tricycle. 

Why though was he on his tricycle? It was because we had been at the dry-cleaners (laundry – I told you so!) dropping in some washing for BWM. Now of course going to the dry-cleaners was on the list of jobs to do that day but I had planned to go in the afternoon. That’s why I was taking him off his tricycle in the morning.

Why did we go early? Simply it was because H had done a runner with his bubble maker around the front of the house and fallen over and taken a good chew on the pavement. This had naturally made him upset and amidst all the tears and the bleeding from the mouth on my clothes I needed to find a way to calm him down. That’s why I put him on his tricycle.

Why had he done a runner around the front of the house with his bubble machine? H was doing a runner with his bubble machine because I wouldn’t let him get upset over his morning milk he had just spilt. Actually, he wasn’t getting that upset. In fact I was stopping him from help clean it up! However, H’s way of cleaning up involved climbing onto the bench seat and attempting to lick the milk up which had just been spilt. To distract him while I cleaned up I gave him the bubble machine.

Of course how was the milk spilt you ask? I had turned on the bubble machine.

I never thought about how much physical interaction I have with H. I know that there’s lots of it, but when you can’t do what you usually do, you realise exactly how much there is! When I did my back I was barely able to pick H up for almost two days. It’s a tough ask when you’re infant son comes up to you with his arms outstretched wanting to be picked up and you can’t do it. In fact the best way I could interact with H during this time was simply lie down on the floor and let him use me as a climbing frame!

This week has also made me realise how lucky BWM and I are in having great support around us from friends and family. My timing in injuring myself couldn’t have been worse because BWM was scheduled to head to New Zealand for a few days of work. Our friend Sarah and my father-in-law Paul both came over to help look after H. Georgina and Kate who kept themselves on stand-by 24/7 in case help was needed. BWM’s boss also told her to make sure she looked after me and that she didn’t need to go if I needed her at home (it did take a lot of persuading on my behalf to show her that I was ok and she could go!). I know too that if I had rung others and asked for help then it probably would have been forth coming.

By not crying over the spilt milk I really learnt how lucky I am to live in a community that cares for our family. However, if I could go back, I think I may just let H help clean up as it could have helped avoid me learning this in such a painful way!