Where or where is all the love for fathers on Mother’s Day?
I can’t help but be struck by the disproportionate amount of praise and love being heaped on moms this Mother’s Day.
Frankly, it wears on me. Like a steady, high-pitched whine that never stops the whole day through.
I just don’t understand why we, as a society, forget about the contributions dads make to Mother’s Day.
Do you think those kids pick out that card themselves? No! Dad does!
Well, OK, in my case, the kiddos did pick out the card, but guess who drove them to the store?
And had to read a bunch of cards to them since they’re still illiterate?
And had to put up with their crazy antics in public?
And had to buy a card for his mom to boot?
So much work. So unfair.
Especially with my kiddos.
I tell you, I’m so glad I’m at work five days a week and not having to endure the demon spawn running around the house, yelling and screaming.
But hey, don’t think I don’t put in my fair share of parenting time. I do.
On evenings and those parts of the weekend when the kiddos aren’t at their grandparents.
Why, weeknights alone, I spend an hour or two with them, or keeping an eye on them, or an ear on them, before they go to bed.
It’s impossible to get anything else done. Heck, I can’t even watch the TV since the Missus expects me to entertain the little monsters while she makes and serves dinner.
It really stinks. At this rate, I’ll never find out how Lost ended.
(I’m sure it was an awesome series finale.)
And let’s not forget: I’m the one who has to read them a bedtime story.
That’s hard. They are terrible listeners, with the attention span of gnats.
I get so frustrated.
And then Mother’s Day comes along, and moms get all the praise.
Oh sure, moms are the one who get pregnant and carry the babies to term and go through childbirth and then hold, feed, clothe, hug, kiss, love, reassure, praise, cuddle, and whatnot the kiddos throughout childhood.
But it’s hard for us dads, too.
Pregnancy was no cake walk for me.
Awakened in the middle of the night while the Missus dealt with the wet (and dry) heaves of morning sickness?
Disruptive to my sleep patterns.
Napping fitfully next to the Missus’ hospital bed while she’s in labor for two days?
Really rough. And surprisingly uncomfortable. My back ached for days after.
Being awakened from a dead sleep every time the Missus got up to feed the kiddos in the night or change diapers?
Left me exhausted the following day.
Never getting to sleep in because the kiddos wake up at the crack of dawn, making so much noise they rouse the Missus who, upon rolling out of bed, wakes me in the process?
Unbearably inconvenient.
I could go on, but I think by now you’ve got a clear enough picture of men’s contributions to raising kids.
I tell ya, it hurts me. It hurts me right here, in the heart.
So this Mother’s Day, don’t forget the dads. The poor, lonely, sad, left out dads.
Today, make them feel like it’s Father’s Day.
ian m dudley 