They do this thing. They get bigger and older and more interesting every day.
And that’s all well and good when they’re teeny and you’re entranced by their every snot bubble, but when they hit that age and you realise that this incredible creature that shares 50% of your DNA is interested in baffling pursuits that frankly bore you rigid, it does become a slight issue.
Yes, I’m talking about FOOTBALL. Oh, and Pokemon cards and Wimpy Kid books and Rainbows and running club and all the rest of course, but mainly football.
Because suddenly you become that parent that you swore you would never be, that parent whose entire week revolves around Getting Children To After School Activities.
(a digression: No word of a lie, a doctor friend of mine who has three kids ended up writing two entire sides of A4 instructions on which kids needed to be where, when, and which other kids needed to be picked up and dropped off, and which other parents would be delivering child A, B, or C to which location after which event, oh and of course what equipment and clothing was needed: that was only to cover a period of 36 hours while she and her husband (also a doctor) had overlapping shifts and antisocial sleep requirements)
You seriously need a degree in event management to cope with the logistics once you have more than one child.
Once you have sorted the “no, you can’t do beat boxing class as well as guppy breeding; they’re on the same night”, and worked out when you will have a chance to do anything other than deliver small squabbling humans to different venues, you then realise the next horror: you have to Be Involved. Your child expects you to be interested in what they’re doing and Watch Them Do Sports.
Because of course if you don’t then they will know you don’t care about them and their future lives will be Ruined. Forever. Permanently.
So with this firmly fixed in your head, you now understand why I am actively encouraging them to watch Star Trek (the original series) and black and white films I remember from when kid’s TV didn’t operate for 14 hours a day. This is why I forcibly read my own book and get them to curl up with me while they read theirs. This is why they have a huge selection of whistles and harmonicas and other instruments that they are never told off for playing. Loudly. And why their dressing up clothes take up more space than their actual wardrobe.
Just a bit of me. Go on. Just enjoy a tiny fraction of the things I can genuinely be excited about….
… and then they become teenagers…
And then your life becomes still more complicated.