Instead of following my instincts and slapping the bitch, I found myself feeling conflicted. Naturally, I was disappointed that this is this woman's experience, one that is shared by too many other parents with absentee partners. However, I also wanted to wave my snot and urine -stained shirt at her and say, "Bitch, I'm right here. And there are tons of other fathers out here, whose hands I would gladly shake were I a little less sticky. How's about taking a stroll outside the gated community of Head-Up-Your-Ass Estates?"
Look, I know daddy bloggers aren't the usual case.
Not by a long shot.
We are a stark minority, so much so that we are often lucky to just be lumped in with the mommies when it comes to parenting. Not every dad has the option to care for his kids as much as we do, or gives much of a shit about washing clothes, weathering tantrums, packing lunches, and the usual crudgery that punctuates parenthood as we might. Fewer still are the men who will make the time to write about it, with vowels and everything.
Nevertheless, it gives me a hot pain in the nethers to spend everyday with my boy, taking care to listen to this and wipe that and pry apart the other things. And then I walk into a Target and see this on a onesie:
This, dammit, is why we need daddy bloggers.
