I hate my life. I hate my kid. I resent my family. I resent my inlaws. I resent my wife. I hate myself.
I never wanted kids, but was never adamantly against having one. I get married. My wife knows how I feel about kids. When we were engaged – my answer was “maybe one, definitely not more.”
As my friends started having kids, I started leaning heavily against having kids. Some parents had good kids. Some parents had bad kids. Even the easy kids looked like too much work.
Queue my wife’s sister dying. All of a sudden “family” is SUPER important to my wife. I get that.
At this point my answer to kids was still no. My wife bothered me and bothered and bothered me. Eventually I was convinced. The deal was her parents would come live nearby.
I was convinced. I was so dumb. I was told not to worry about all the realities of having a kid and losing my life – because grandma and grandpa are down the block and would be all the parents baby ever needed. Since my wife’s sister died – she was the only hope for grandkids.
My wife and her parents worked me over so good. They convinced me. They made good points. My wife’s parents were in their 50’s and good health – they would be here “beyond the baby phase” and “would have enough energy to keep up with a kid”.
I’m shown enough Disney movies and Kodak moment and am promised that I just have to be a good dad and provider. A 1950’s dad if you will – one where the mom unfairly does all the hard stuff. All the good and no bad? Cool – fine by me.
Well here we are, 11 years later. My kid has “ODD” which is pretty much alphabet soup for your kid being an a-hole and defiant. Nothing else is wrong with them – the diagnosis is literally that they are vindictive and cruel and seek conflict. Not because they can’t communicate or are hypsersensitive to stimuli – but just because.
Guess what? Grandma and grandpa say the kid is “too much”. They haven’t helped for more than a day a month in almost 7 years.
And here I am – home from work to my son spitting on the neighbors to door knob – his reason “get the neighbors sick”. Why does he want them sick? His delivery package got delivered to their house in the morning and they waited until evening to give it to him.
Well in returning to for telling him not to do that, my son peed all over the one box of memorabilia I have from my parents – who both died before I was 20.
I left the house and am sitting in my car. I don’t know if I’m coming back.
And I don’t want advice. This isn’t “lack of discipline” or “bad parenting”. I’ve read every book. I’ve worked shifts 6 days a week for a decade to pay for tens of thousands (probably 100,000’s) of therapy, behaviorists, counseling, classes. You name it.
At the end of the day, it is my fault. I am so spineless. I knew I didn’t want kids. I was convinced, because, well, I’m a jellyfish. And here I am. 45 years old, crying in my car.
My advice to other men and women out there: only have a kid if you 1000% want them. Don’t listen to others when they say they’ll “help”. They’ll help if you have a happy, bubbly easy-going kid. Not if you spawned the devil himself.