Vent

So, one day last week, I was just living my life, trying to take care of (aka, survive) the toddler and get through another mealtime, when something terrible happened. Something that knocked me off my feet, and that I knew would require the big guns – aka, my dad. 

And because dads are awesome, he came running. That’s right, at 30 years old, with a kid of my own, I can still call my daddy when I’m in need, and he’ll still come save the day (no matter how ridiculous my request may or may not be). 

I thought the trauma of the situation was behind me, but apparently, I was wrong. Unfortunately (for me), my dad is an epically good writer, and he decided to write a guest post so he could humiliate me forever – because that’s what dads do. 

So with that, enjoy your laugh at my expense for the day:

Remember before you had kids, when your dinnertime was a cherished time to unwind with your spouse, catch up on each other’s days, discuss the latest world events, and just be connected?

Or – let’s be real – a time to eat on the couch, watch TV, and play on Facebook next to your spouse while you both zone out after an exhausting day of work?

Dinnertime with a toddler is basically the same as that, if you did all of those things while wrestling a rattlesnake. Not only is it physically exhausting you from its surprising strength for its size, but you’re actually afraid for your life because it could bite you at any moment. But at the same time, you and the snake both gotta eat, so you’re just powering through and trying to get at least half the plate of food into your mouths before one of you completely breaks (and we all know which one of you it’s going to be).

There is nothing worse than a sick baby. So helpless, so weak, so completely pathetic. They sleep all day, and when they’re awake, they just whine and groan, and there’s nothing you can do to make them feel better.

Oh wait, I’m sorry, did I say “baby” up there? I meant “husband.” There’s nothing worse than a sick husband.

Yes, yes, I know, car seats save a lot of lives. Our parents shuttled us around in plastic buckets in the passenger seat of their cars, and it’s a miracle any of us survived that. But that doesn’t mean car seats weren’t created by an evil sadist who wants to watch the world burn.

Do you have the next three days off work? Do you have a small child? Do you hate yourself? Then by all means… Hit the road this weekend.

I’m sure you have grand visions for this trip: showing your kid quirky landmarks, playing fun car games, singing songs together as a family… It’ll be downright idyllic!

Well go ahead and set that picture on fire because that’s a better representation of the fresh hell that awaits you on the open road.