So it’s come to my attention recently that I am a massive, undeniable hypocrite. Not to point fingers here, but I think it’s all Bub’s fault. In the Pre-Bub days, I did what I said and said what I did. I could look myself in the mirror, hold my head high. Now I don’t even know who I am anymore.
Now I didn’t consult Webster, but I always defined a hypocrite as someone who says one thing, then does something that is in direct opposition to what they said. You know, like Attila the Hun speaking down at the Roadway Inn ballroom on the Kindness, Forgiveness and You panel.
That person is now me. I guess it probably all started during sleep training. I’d tell my wife to not go in his room for any reason, no matter how hard he cried. Doc said let him cry it out, that’s what we would do. You and me. A paragon of solidarity.
Twenty minutes later, I’d find myself sitting in the rocker, humming Ave Maria to him. It just degenerated from there.
I tell my wife if he throws his food on the floor, he doesn’t eat. Period. He’s not going to starve himself, we need to take control, set boundaries, establish routines. He’ll eat when he’s hungry. We need to be parents, not pushovers.
Then I’m down on my knees, sheepishly scooping up lowly raisins and forsaken breadbits while he feasts on the object of all his affections, a hush-up kiwi.
I say no peeking. When he is asleep, I don’t care how cute he is or how little you saw him that day, we absolutely leave him alone; not good for the old circadian rythyms, dream patterns, REMs and the what have you. This is what I say.
Full confession: I’ve developed a habit of going in at least once a night, sometimes two, to check on him. He’s just so peaceful, clutching Bankie close to his little chest. It’s such a beautiful contrast from the rest of the day—no grabbing, slapping, pointing, crying or needing. I even took his picture a couple times. In my defense, I do possess ninja stealth.
So I find this whole revelation upsetting for several reasons, but mostly because it’s the one trait in others I absolutely cannot stand and am quick to point out. But that’s always the way it is, right? Man, I hate it when people just talk about themselves. So anyway, this is what’s going on with me me me.
Like G.I. Joe, knowing truly is half the battle. I’m self-aware. So is Charlie Sheen. The problem with that Saturday morning logic is they never got around to telling us what the other half was. So I’m left here, half-batte tested, .
The only idea that comes screaming to mind is to just keep my mouth shut. A new form of parenting—The Silent Way. He who casts no stones can break no windows. Or something like that. But that’s not much fun now, is it?