A short while before my daughter was born, a coworker of mine was about to have his second child. “I hate babies,” he told me, “they are boring. I can’t stand when they are babies.”
At the time, I thought he was crazy.
With our second child, now a little over a month old, I am reminded of this statement, and how it isnt far off the mark. I know “hate” is too strong a word, but, compared to a lot of other stages, babies are boring.
Especially now that I have a three year old around, whom I can play, joke and have conversations with (although she does bring her own set of challenges).
Sure, my son is damned cute. I love to look at him. I even love to hold him. I don’t mind his crying — as with many second parents, it doesn’t bother me to have him cry for a few minute while I get a bottle ready or whatnot.
But, well, he doesn’t do anything beside cry, eat, poop and look cute. He can’t even smile yet. “Cute” is all I get for the hours of work (at all hours of the night) I put in.
And, dude — you’re cute, but after two straight hours of holding you to feed and burp you, I get a little bored. And my arm gets tired. And, well, After that long, I’d just like to do something normal, like read a book, or maybe eat or something.
Oh, I love him well enough, and look forward to seeing how he grows and how he turns out compared to my daughter, but, well.. I dunno. I’m sure, when I look back on it, it will have flown by.
And, when he throws a tantrum at 3 years old like the kind my daughter is having, I’ll wonder why he couldn’t have stayed a baby forever.