It Gets Better

It gets better. Is it inappropriate that I’m cannibalizing a message from the gay community for my own needs? Probably. But get ready for all kinds of inappropriate.

Pparenting is tough. I’m not even up to the stage where kids are sending naked pictures of each other, or whatever insane online drama teens have now. I’m still in the Dark Days of Baby. Sunday, the washer broke so I wrung out loads of laundry, the dryer ate my quarters, a neighbor left me a “Dear -sshole” note because I removed their clothes from the washer, all the while minding First Son, who was wandering around the machines and kept bumping into them because he insisted on wearing sunglasses.

A friend from grad school said that you go through a period where you want to kill yourself/the babies because that’s what it takes to forge bonds for life. I like the drama of her sentiment, and it feels that intense when you’re going on four hours of sleep for months. If people remembered how tough it is to take care of a little one, no one would do it. Our species would just disappear.

Thank you, Tim Gunn.

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