Everything in my life circles back to poop. Whether helping my son accurately wipe, or holding my daughter's hair while she's firing from both ends thanks to the damn stomach virus hitting our house for the 3rd time in a year, or changing what can only be described as toxic waste from my youngest's first round of "solid" foods. Poop analogies come with parenthood. I'm 100% accurate in saying until you are a parent, you won't understand my time requirements, the importance of leaving work on time, or why a social night office party is of no interest to me. Hell, didn't you know it was bath night. Lord I hate bath night. Can't we just take them to the pool again? Why is the bath such a royal pain in the ass? If you start too late, the natives get cranky and start whining.
I hate whining. I tell you this if ISIS commanders had to listen to the whining of my kids, they'd blow themselves up and the world would be a better place for it. Can we militarize the sound of my son whining because his sister buckled her damn seat belt first and he didn't "win?" Compound it with all the whines of children across the country, and I think we could drive a piercing audio wave into the brains of our enemies. Accompany that with a cannon firing 3 week old contents of the diaper genie, and I'm certain peace overtakes the earth. See what I did there? Brought it back to poop.
My current situation is this. I'm recovering from Achilles tendon rupture repair. This morning was going to be the big day where I get to walk again, but the scab from my incision busted and bled. So while a new scab grows I have 12 more days of my pirate leg crutch.
When I was a teenager, I didn't have a clue what my purpose in life was. I had hopes and career dreams that were dashed at 22, so I worked. A decade and a half later I'm still working. I like my job, the benefits are good for me and my family, but by no means am I changing the world. So what is my purpose? It's those damn kids.
My purpose in life is to be their Dad. That's it. I'm not an entrepreneur. I'm not going to be the founder of the next must have app for your phone. I'm just a dad and a husband. What's crazy is, my wife and I we're happy DINKS (Dual Income No Kids) for 7 years. A family tragedy (something I may cover at a later date) changed my thinking, she agreed and here we are in 2017 knee deep in baby crap. Again.
So back to my pirate leg.
If my purpose in life is to be dad, but I can't run, jump, and play with them, then I feel like all I'm doing is barking orders and yelling a lot. I can't move quickly, so last night's "Dad did I wipe good?" was a comical race against time. Can I hobble in there before he pulls up his Paw Patrol underwear? Am I too late, or did he actually do a good job, but is in desperate need of a thorough handwashing? This is my job. I am dad. I'm going through the motions right now. I know mom's talk about this stuff all the time. But dad's need to know we are doing a good job too. And for those of us who find ourselves with parenthood as their purpose in life, being on injured reserve can strike deep in the corners of self worth. I'm not depressed, or in danger or harming anyone. I'm just bummed out. It's summer in the south. I should be riding bikes with my kids, and playing in the sprinkler. At times in the past I'd scoff and roll my eyes at such a request from my daughter. She needs everything to be a big production. But right now, as I sit on my ass, I'd do anything to be apart of that production. This too shall pass, I know its temporary and I know other people have much bigger issues with health and family. So today, I've decided, I've got 12 more days till I can walk. That is 12 opportunities to find something immobile dad can do that mobile dad never did. I'm going to add them to my repertoire in hopes that wiping an ass is just a phase I get to grow out of.
Till next time
God Bless,
Skylor
