I have a theory. It’s so revolutionary, so mind-altering, I’m terrified to unleash it on the world. I’m sure a savvy behavioral scientist will steal my idea and claim it as his own. Perhaps some pseudo-scientist will develop an outlandish experiment to test my hypothesis while giving me zero credit. Despite these obvious dangers, I’ve decided to bravely share my idea with the world.
I believe children appear to have endless energy because they actively and greedily consume the life force and willpower of their parents and caregivers.
That’s it. That’s the theory. It’s the only way to explain my children’s ability to grind my resolve into dust.
I’m sure most parents can relate, but with all humility, I’m not your average parent. My hobby — running ultramarathons — is based on willpower and longsuffering. I voluntarily push myself to the physical limit just to see how far I can go. My endurance and resolve to will myself to finish these races is my superpower, and yet . . . my 4-year-old can bring me to my knees.
Compare your life before v. after kids
If we are on even footing, human to human, I believe I can out willpower anyone on Earth. Those rare times I encounter someone with similar resolve, it’s a bad day for us both. However, my children come equipped with a genetic advantage. They can somehow extract my life force, my very essence, and use it against me. It’s the only way a 9-year-old could use logic and wit to defeat me. How else could you explain a 7-year-old with more probing questions than a special counselor investigating a former president?
Yeah, sure, it’s possible I’m not as special as I think I am. However, I reject that reality. Instead, I’ve invented an outlandish, borderline supernatural explanation for why children erode parents’ defenses. As crazy as it seems, it does make sense. Let’s look at the evidence. (And remember, you’re reading this theory on the internet — I’m not obligated to offer any — let alone, REAL — evidence yet I’m offering it.)
Firstly, I bet you had more energy before you had children. Morning wake-ups were easier. Drink a glass of wine while following a complex recipe? Easy-peasy. Staying up beyond 10 p.m.? Non-issue. Reading a book was a relaxing, calming experience; you could easily finish a chapter without losing consciousness. But then, kids …
Secondly, I bet you used to do stuff. Any stuff. All the stuff. Hobbies. Social lives. Yard work. You know — stuff! Your only consideration was whether you felt like doing stuff. There was no one else to interfere. No one else draining your will and resolve. It was just you. But then, kids …
Thirdly, remember sex? I do. It’s how we got ourselves into this mess.
Fourthly . . . well, I’m still stuck on the sex part.
Oh, the endless questions, negotiations
Now, I have a confession. All of the above is admittedly nonsense. It’s a cover. An elaborate explanation to give me the courage to say: I’m tired, and I feel like I’m losing.
I probably shouldn’t view parenting as a winning or losing proposition, but it all feels so contentious. Each interaction with my kids is a complex negotiation. My oldest, for example, has begun questioning every request or decision my wife or I make, and she needs detailed explanations to be satisfied.
Eat your dinner. Father, how much food do I have to eat?
Pick up your toys. Mother, how many toys would be acceptable?
Brush your teeth. All of them, dear parents? And just how many minutes of this would constitute sufficiently brushed?
It’s exhausting.
Meanwhile, my middle son is a cliché “boy,” and everything has become physical. He runs around the house like a raging Viking, plundering my other kids of their safety and me of my will. By the time my youngest makes her move on me, I’m like a limping antelope asking the cheetah, “Just make it quick.”
Worst of all, these little soul suckers are only 9, 7, and 4.5 years old. What will I have left in the tank when requests start to involve dating, driving and the really scary shit?!
I look at other parents who have survived and wonder: How?
Is this what good parenting feels like?
I’m terrified of the future and I question my ability to navigate what lies ahead. Already I struggle to keep up. School and sports. Birthday parties and play dates. So many dance practices, cheer practices, and cheer AND dance competitions. Do I spend enough time with them individually? Does one of them feel like they don’t get enough attention? Is there enough time for each child to pursue his or her own interests?
I’ve told other moms and dads that if they are stressed about their parenting decisions, it means they’re doing something right. I wonder if I can take my own advice? Is it truly evidence I’m doing my best? Who the hell determines why my “best” is, anyway? Why do I keep asking so many questions? Is THIS where my kids get it from? Crap.
There is some pseudo-science part of my brain that may believe children have a secret, cosmic superpower that allows them to drain us of our life force. Maybe that’s the alternate reality explanation I need to get myself through the parenting quagmire of endless questions and chronic bickering. Perhaps, in some alternate universe, I’m winning awards for parenting aplomb, but in this world, the words of the English band Bastille say it best: “What can I say? I’m survivin’, crawling out these sheets to see another day.”
So go — observe your kids from a distance. If they make eye contact, and their eyes shine and glow as they drain you of will and life, remember life-force energy vampires are real, and those damn kids always know what we do in the shadows.
Photo of life-force drained father: © globalmoments / Adobe Stock.
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