He then proceeded to outline his grievances. Miss Chatterbox doesn't listen, she isn't quiet, she won't potty, she complains about his food, The Bun just whines and cries all day, he can't get anything done, it's impossible to leave the house, he never gets any sleep, etc. Outwardly, I was nodding and clucking sympathetically, but I can't deny, inwardly, I was getting great satisfaction out of snickering and thinking, "I TOLD YOU SO!" and "Oh, NOW, you believe me, you big, stinky turd." But, when he concluded his rant with, "And I look ridiculous in that baby wrap thing," I completely lost it. I laughed like I was at a Chris Rock show. I may have snorted a few times. I'm cool like that.
However, the harder I laughed, the more offended The Firefighter became. We ended up in a little bit of a spat over parenting techniques after I tried to give him some helpful advice. By advice, I mean I gloated like a know-it-all who just won jeopardy. "Suck it up, soldier, you're the grown up." and "That's why they call it the terrible twos" wasn't really appreciated. My bad. Who knew a dude who runs into burning building could be such a sensitive sally?
Although, we ended up laughing again when he said, "I'm pretty sure The Bun doesn't like me because I don't have big knockers, like you. "
"Maybe you ought to get a boob job."
"Or maybe, we ought to figure something out before I get that desperate."
Hopefully, we can. I'm a pretty lax parent, but The Firefighter takes it to a new level. He feels that things like getting the kids dressed, or brushing their hair and teeth are optional. Balanced meals? What's that? I've caught him giving Miss Chatterbox popcorn and calling it lunch!
The last one I can understand, after all, no one fights food the way Miss Chatterbox does. Although, it probably IS a statement about his cooking. He seems to have forgotten how he used to be banned from cooking at the firehouse because it took him 5 hours to cook (and ruin) a Stouffer's frozen lasagna. Or how about the "salsa soup" experiment? Eww, on second thought, let's not repeat that story. My stomach churns at the very thought of it.
The Firefighter was also convinced the baby was sick. Turns out she just had gas. Apparently, you need big cha chas to burp a baby effectively too. Who knew?
I guess you just can't replace MOM.
How do you divide up the parenting chores?