UPDATE: Apparently, “overtired” really is a thing. After a 13-plus hour sleep session, the big guy just woke from his slumber. Upon emerging from his darkened room, he smiled and said “I feel great, dude.” I should also report that he looks a full half-inch taller than he was yesterday.
(Original post to follow)
Some parenting good news: Today I was Ronda Rousey.
The bad: The 6 year old was Holly Holm.
But he wasn’t just real-life Holly Holm, whose head kick to Ronda happened just one time and ended the fight. My little ninja was Holly Holm in the GIF above, delivering the knockout blow as many times as I’d allow. Each time, the kick became more painful.
I’ll spare you the emo details of our day, because they don’t matter. Here’s what you need to know: Milo will do anything to anyone he loves if he knows it’ll get a rise. He’s a master of reading a room. He’s six. He’s experimenting with the world around him.
For some reason, today I was his mark.
Today I walked into some of his best material.
On paper, the emotional part of the parenting game is simple: Don’t allow the little lightweights to fight up to our weight class. Assume every haymaker they throw is one thrown without intent. Guard the chin. Lots of defense. No offense.
Float like a butterfly, and float like a butterfly some more.
But what happens when the littles stick a jab on our chin and stun us? What happens when it catches us off guard and turns into a combo?
I botched it badly today. Smarted from an early blow. Invited more. Never recovered.
But I made it. Put the little guy to bed, read him his usual stories, kissed him in the usual way–all the while thinking about some of the meaner stuff he said. All the while knowing he’ll wake in the morning with no recollection of today’s win.
As for me, I’m typing a blog post, sipping a smooth Glendalough, hoping you’ll share with me how you handle your worst dad days. Lord knows I could use some advice.