dad.

I think the reality of my being a parent hasn’t truly felt like “parenting” because, at this point, my son (whom I love with an irrational passion that makes me wake up happy even when shit is going painfully sour in the rest of my life) is little more than a small, helpless creature who can’t really communicate that well and who relies upon me to read his mind to determine exactly what he wants, an act that I fucking hate on all levels regardless of who’s doing it to me, and even when I’m getting paid to do that shit (as part of my job), I can’t fucking stand it, but he’s a baby, y’know, so you kinda just have to keep doing the circuit and maybe eventually you’ll be able to put two and two together, right?

But then I put him on my shoulder and he falls asleep, or I walk into the room after being gone for a bit and his face brightens up, or I sit with him on the porch swing or listen to metal albums with him (which he tolerates with surprising aplomb given the steady in utero diet of abysmally shitty fucking pop music one hears in a trendy upscale hair salon he received) and I realize this is pretty much the most important thing I could be doing in my day.

Although I kind of miss watching Aliens all the time.