Bad Parenting

Days like today make me think that I have got to be the worst fucking parent ever. The baby decided that jumping on mam's bed sounded like fun and he doesn't have what you would call great balance. So the poor boy flips face first onto the headboard. I think we can expect to see black eye number 4 tomorrow. Number one involved him rolling off the couch onto the rocking horse (more about this horse later). Number 2 was falling onto the corner of the coffee table while he was learning to walk. Number three is my all time fave, though. That earned him not only a black eye, but a nice scar on his brow bone. He was playing in the tub with the five year old, decided he was done with that shit because the five year old kept stealing his toys, and attempted to climb out. He was doing fine, with one leg slung over the side of the tub, but apparently, wet balls are slippery and once those rubbed the tub wall, he slipped off and whacked his fucking eye again! Two big cuts, gushing blood, and bruised all to hell.

That's my youngest. My five year old just liked to poop on the living room floor when we had company over. My daughter, on the other hand, had a talent for nose bleeds. First one ever was in Walmart. She walked straight into a cart and started pouring blood all over the floor. Some Walmart person runs for the manager who gave her a free ICEE to make her feel better. Bad idea. So for about a year, every fucking trip to Walmart invariably ended with the girl crying and bleeding and an ICEE in her grubby little manipulative hand.

Then there's my oldest, my darling son, who is too damn smart for his own good. He's a bit OCD and always has been, so he's never been much for doing things that will actually hurt him. Our problems with him are of an entirely different nature. He said his first word at three and half months old and it wasn't the usual baby gibberish. No. He was playing with my mom's dog, who got sick of getting his hair pulled and his eyes poked and said, "Fuck that. I'm gone!!" The dog walks away and my son yells the dog's name, Scruffy. I thought that I was going nuts and just trying to hear actual words, but my sister freaked out and started screaming that he's said the dog's name. That poor boy. The two of us are in his face trying to get him to say it again to no avail. The kid didn't talk for another two months and when he did, I wished he hadn't.

My grandfather died when his great-grandson was five and a half months old. We went to the funeral and afterwards headed for a family dinner at the house. My grandfather's brother built this beautiful wooden rocking horse for my son, so of course we have to try him out on it. He did fine for a while, but again, balance issues and he fell off. The boy doesn't cry. Doesn't scream. Doesn't make any kind of fuss. Just sits there, looks around, and says "FUCK!"