What I Learned from My Son/Daughter/Baby
It’s amazing. I figured out the most sneaky and covert and super clever way of inflating my own ego while seeming to share some sort of “valuable” experience with others who might enjoy this sort of shameless narcissism.
You see, my child is the most wonderful thing that ever happened, second to me. And when I did this thing with them, it was an equal parts exasperating and exhilarating experience which in the end shows how wise and sensitive and good I am.
So the other day I did something with my son/daughter/baby and it was wonderful and I am wonderful and so is my child.
I am a good father, that much has already been made clear by this article, hasn’t it?
Good, because I have never been able to write about my kids before. Any time I wrote about my family it seemed to me like I was bragging and that this sort of bragging might make other people feel bad about not having as amazing a family as I do. But writing this blog I have finally figured out a way to brag while not bragging. It’s really brilliant isn’t it?
Oh shit, I did it again. I revealed the true purpose of not only my writing, but my speaking and my actions — to prove how brilliant I am. Damn me!
Is that the true purpose also of my parenting?
Egad.
I am a sad man. I am a hateful man. I am a spiteful man.
I’m going underground.
