All of the parents who are members of various Internet parenting groups I belong to have babies around the same age as Will. That means a slew of kids celebrating their first birthdays. And surprisingly (at least to me), it translates into a tsunami of emotion and crying.
I just don’t get it.
All of these moms admitted they were in tears at the thought of their kids turning 1. They cried when they bought the invitations to the birthday party. They cried when they bought presents. And they cried when they sang happy birthday and brought the cake out. They said it was sadness at the thought of their kids growing up so fast, and that they’re not little babies anymore.
All I know is that must be a gender thing. I know what I’m about to say may not be the most sensitive thing in the world, but I have to be honest.
I really don’t care for newborns.
First of all, they’re creepy looking. All of them, even Will was. They look like wrinkled little aliens and, truth be told, they freak me out a bit. Second, they are boring. All they do is sleep, eat and poop. That’s just not interesting. And since Will was breastfed, I really didn’t have much to do with him except change his tarry craps when necessary. What’s fun about that?
I am THRILLED that Will is older now. He’s walking, talking a little, doing some sign language, playing with toys, etc. I can toss him around, he’s starting to understand what we’re saying to him. In short, HE’S FUN! He’s interesting. He’s no longer a lump of wrinkled flesh who looks like the offspring of E.T. and Kuato from Total Recall.
Like I said, I’m sure this is not politically correct, but it’s the truth dammit.
And I can’t wait until he gets even older and more fun. When he starts talking all the time (I know JEE will tell me I’ll regret saying this) and playing Little League and soccer and bringing home math homework that completely stumps me. I want to take him to Fenway and Disney World and have father-son bonding trips to get our hair cut at the barber shop.
But I certainly won’t be pining for the days when I could barely get any time with him because he was a tiny infant perpetually attached to my wife’s boobs.