The worst part about parenting

You’ve probably stubbed your toe before.

When that happens, the level of pain may vary, but what hurts the most (shoutout Rascal Flatts) is the shock factor. Right?

It’s the feeling of going one direction with a certain thing in mind to suddenly and out of nowhere stopping everything to focus all of your attention on a small part of your body. Nothing prepares you for that startling change in direction.

That is not the worst part of parenting, but it’s the closest reference I can think of to what I’m about to describe.

This is a thing that happens to me once a week. Sometimes more. Never at the exact same time or in the exact same place, but most often in the evenings or at night.

Every so often I find myself carrying the boy. Either he has asked to be carried, or I’ve just picked him up for whatever reason. When I carry him through our house, he thinks it’s really funny to grab hold of the door frame as we walk through.

Meaning, we will be walking and all of a sudden he’ll reach out with one hand (or both!) and grab hold of a door frame to try to stop our progress. He always laughs when he does this.

It makes me apoplectic.

Imagine getting choked out the moment you walk into a new room. We pass through a door frame, and all of a sudden, I have a forty pound baboon squeezing my jugular and the door frame with all his might.

The frustration is similar to stubbing your toe in that it shouldn’t happen and you’re not expecting it. But when you stub your toe, there’s usually no one to blame but yourself, so you can’t really get that upset. Here, I have a clear enemy. And that enemy is laughing at me with his face two inches from ear.

If I weren’t the living breathing embodiment of self control this child would’ve been tossed through a window multiple times (I haven’t done this even once for the record).

This is, I think, the worst part of being a parent. It’s having the very human you’re trying to feed, clothe, bathe, protect, educate, love, and adore consistently (and often to great effect) trying to stop you from doing all of those things.

The twist is that after I scold him for grabbing a door frame (again, I don’t throw him!), he smiles, and laughs, and hugs me, and tells me he loves me. Every time.

And within, I don’t know, five seconds I’ve completely forgotten my anger.

Which, if you look at it another way, goes to show that there really isn’t a worst part of parenting. Or at least the worst parts are, in my experience, followed so rapidly by a high I can’t even begin to describe that it’s like the lows don’t fully exist.

I hate it when the boy grabs a door frame. Deep in my bones, I hate it. But not even once have I thought about deciding to no longer carry him around the house.

There’s another even crazier level to this experience too.

One day—and this sounds insane—I will miss the days where I got to carry him and where he got to choke me in every door in our house. How does that make any sense at all. That’s not even a question because it doesn’t make sense.

The worst part about parenting is one of the many parts that I will miss when it’s gone. So, maybe there isn’t actually a worst part at all.

Thanks for reading this far.

- jd

And also…

Fine, I’ll admit it. This whole thing was an excuse to use the word apoplectic. Sue me.

You should never make a big decision until after you’ve had three square meals for five straight days with at least two of those days also including some form of exercise. This is a rule of life.

I love anything where the people involved care a lot. See: the World Cup.