Infamous Firsts

“So many things in the world have happened before. But it’s like they never did. Every new thing that happens to a person, it’s a first."

Louise Erdrich, Love Medicine

I know I'm not the first father whose Mini-Me has yelled, "I hate you" or "I don't like you" or "You're being mean" at bedtime.

I know I'm not the first father who's ended up following a pleasant story time with a raised voice.

I know I'm not the first father who's teetered on the perilous precipice of love and anger.

I know I'm not the first, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm frustrated our bedtime ritual now seems to include yelling and crying. Once Mini-Me's finally in bed, either ours or the guest bed in the basement since he can't resist waking up his brother, I'm spent. I'm emotionally drained. I'm spiraling into self-loathing. On particularly bad nights (like tonight) I long for past freedoms.

I never thought I'd be the disciplinarian. Not that I didn't imagine myself doling out laws, I knew I would. It's more that I thought I'd be the fun dad...the 'good cop'. I thought Rach would be the one who'd have to step in and be strict about noise, bed times, or dinner-time rambunctiousness. Instead it's me. I feel most responsible for getting after the boys when they're screaming through the house slamming doors, refusing to go gently into that good night, or goofing off at the dinner table. I feel like I'm the one who makes a big deal out of it. My perfectionist side begs for kids who'll act always on their best behavior while my logical side keeps telling the perfectionist to shove off. He's so damn tenacious, though.

Thus we've ended up at nights like this one: an overtired Mini-Me vs. an overtired Me. He can't simply lay down and shut his eyes. It's not how he works. He lays down in bed, summons the energy of forty-eight cotton-top tamarins, then kicks, rolls, bounces, laughs and FIGHTS against sleep. Eventually, we'll find him angelically sleeping, but not until after he's dished out some "I hate you"s and I've dished out some frustration-laced "GET IN BED NOW"s, ineffective attempts at rational thought, and an occasional swat on the rear.

It's in those moments that I have to find distance. I have to get away from the anger and disappointment I feel in myself. Luckily, this month I've spent my evenings writing about our Noisy Little Adventures, which returns me to the happiness that fill 90% of our days.

I know he's not the first kid to do this.

I know I'm not the first father to feel this.

I know that this, too, shall pass...

but, damn, it sucks right now!