Don't Touch My Kid!

Today I sit writing, pausing to blow snot out of my nose. Yep, I have a cold. Which means my kids will get it. The baby already does. By the time we get over it my two year old will just be getting started. This leads to a month long cycle of passing the snot ball around. I am thinking about licking my kids face so we can get this over sooner. Now, when I used to have a job getting sick usually meant getting a day off watching bad soap operas. But not now! Now, getting sick means a day of lying on the floor having your kid jump up and down on you. You’ve got about 2 hours till he gets bored watching TV. 2 hours till he begins begging, pleading, and crying till you play with him, which is honestly the last thing you want to do because your body wishes to hibernate. So, being the super dad I am, I am gutting it out and finishing this post, which, by the way is all about kids this time.

Being a stay at home father is an interesting experience in gender norms and societal roles. I understand that our society is trying to become more PC and being a stay at home dad isn’t as odd as it would have been if it was my father. But, let’s face it, it not the normal thing and most people are a little fascinated. The reaction I get from telling people I am a stay at home father is mostly positive. From the women it’s mostly, “Ahhh, that’s nice,” with an occasional “It ain’t that easy is it?” The men tell me either they are jealous and wish they could stay home from work (this coming is from the guys who don’t have kids or have never spent 3 to 4 consistent days alone with their own) or the men who have an idea what its like and tell me, “Wow, that would drive me insane.” Well, the baby just got up so I must take a break and go feed her…

I will try to yank this post back on track. Needless to say there are many interesting….Oh, the two year old is climbing on the table…

Alright, well now he is chasing the cat…

Yeah, I have no idea how I get things finished. *sighs* phone. Well great, now the wife is getting sick.

Where was I? Oh yes. So every now and again I will get that ignorant comment that my balls have been cut off, like some drunken buffoon at a party who suggested that happened to all those men who wear baby front carries. You also surprisingly get a lot of completely condescending remarks. Well they might not be really condescending remarks because most people don’t even realize they are doing it, but I sure don’t let them get past me! If I know you and you tell me I am doing a great job at taking care of my kids that’s a compliment and I thank you. If you’re some strange woman at the book store who tells my child he “did a real good job” keeping it together at story time, thanks, that’s nice. But to then turn to me and tell me I did a great job, too? No thanks, that’s fricken condescending. I don’t need you telling me I am doing a good job when I got two screeching children at my side. The only reason you’re telling me this is because I happen to be the ONLY man in the entire building, including the employees. Look, I understand that she is just trying to be nice and, again, I have minor anger issues, but my whole point is, would she had said something if I was a woman? Did she say anything to the woman right next to me with similar aged children who just so happened to also be screaming their heads off? No. So, treat me like the rest of the women in the store and ignore me. This brings me to the title of my post:

Don’t touch my kid.
Do I need to repeat it?
DON’T TOUCH MY KID!

Now, if you’re family or friends, go right ahead. Touch my kids all you want. Well, to a degree of course. But if I don’t know you, and unless death or serious injury is involved to either my child or someone else, don’t touch them. There are few, ok many, things that irritated me, but the list of things that will get me angry enough to actually show it is very short. For instance: The Steelers losing (Uggg…they should have won that game against the Giants!! If they could have just stopped tripping over themselves!!). Another HUGE one is a stranger touching my kids. And you know what? I don’t feel bad getting angry over this. This is a natural instinctual drive here. You don’t step between a mama bear and her cubs and you sure as hell don’t step between a Super Dad and his kids. Let me give you an example for those of you who might not understand.

A couple of months back I was at the park. Usually during the day I am the only adult male there, but this was a weekend and, you know what, forget it, that doesn’t matter. What matters is this; I am sitting on a bench with my infant on my knee. She is wearing a nice little sun dress with coordinated socks and matching sun hat, which I happened to pick out. She is a little fussy so I am bouncing her on my knee because she likes that. I turn my head to get a bead on my 2 year old. He enjoys throwing rocks into the garbage. Why? Cause he is two. The garbage can is relatively close to the stream. I know the exact distance my child can get to the stream before I have get up and start yelling at him. This imaginary line is the distance I can catch him at a dead sprint if he tries to leap into the stream. So, my head is turned and I am keeping a Super Dad eye on him. The infant starts to fuss a little harder, but my attention is still on the 2 year old. He retreats from said line so I turn back around to find some strange woman directly in my face. She proceeds to say something like, “Oh looky here, her bonnet is over her eyes,” and then starts adjusting her hat.

(Again I promised I wouldn’t swear in this blog so)
WHAT THE *@#$!!??
What are you doing!!??

I don’t promote violence in any sort of way. Well, except on the football field of course, and when spiking the volleyball on someone, but in our normal lives it is completely unnecessary. I will never strike my children and violence against not just women but EVERYONE is never needed. But on that day I wanted to slap that woman. I wanted to slap her right across the face. What faulty firing axon in your brain actually let you believe that’s ok? Is it because I am sitting here with my Slipknot T-shirt, my uncombed hair, and my male reproductive organs? Perhaps in her eyes I have it stapled on my forehead that I need help. Hey, thanks, I don’t need help, alright? Don’t touch my children! I don’t need your help. I like to think I’m pretty dang good at what I do. My two year-old is happy most of the time, he listens for the most part and is, quite frankly, a giant. So, I must be doing something right. Am I overreacting? I don’t think so. Not getting upset over something like this is going against nature. For those of you with kids, does it not make the skin peel off your skull when that random lady at the grocery store wearing bottle-cap glasses and reeking of cats reaches into the sanctity of your newborn’s stroller? Where have those hands been?! We are supposed to be wary of strangers. We have no idea where these people have been or what disgusting matter of deviancy they have covering their hands. I will never stop getting upset about strangers touching my children.

To close, I would like for all of you reading this to pass the word. Don’t touch other people’s children. Even if it’s a dad who has 4 kids and they are screaming and yelling and some desire to help kicks in, ignore it. If those kids aren’t about to seriously hurt themselves or anyone else just leave them alone. I know, I know, you might be just trying to help, but you’re not. So please don’t touch my kid.

Thanks again for reading. Please tell a friend and come back next week.