The Life and Times of a Navy Husband

Sean and I have been traveling this week and visiting Danielle, and the confines of a hotel room (actually a room in the bachelor officers’ quarters where Danielle is staying for her training this summer) have acted like a pressure cooker. I’m so much more aware of the bad habits he and I are developing.

Now that he can walk, Sean is becoming a lot more assertive and demanding. He doesn’t want to be held (except when he does); he doesn’t want to just sit in the stroller (unless he’s tired of walking); basically, he wants what he wants when he wants it. As he’s gotten stronger, this has gotten a lot more annoying. When I’m trying to make breakfast or wash the dishes or work on the computer, Seanzilla frequently walks up and pushes his way in front of me and grabs at me until I pick him up. To add to the urgency, he usually screams at me while he does this.

Danielle has helped me realize that if I constantly give in to his demands, we’re going to have a tyrant on our hands. So the travel crib has become a playpen. I can deal with the crying. I can’t deal with Pushy Mr. Grabby Hands.

I’ve also developed a couple bad habits of my own. I’ve categorized these into types of parents.

Smartphone Dad
Since I purchased a Palm Pre, I’ve become that guy: the guy who stops the grocery cart in the middle of the store to read an e-mail or takes a breather during a walk to look up the name of that one actor in that one movie. I used to be so judgmental of people who talked on their phones while pushing the stroller, and now I’ve become that kind of parent. I need to make rules for myself about when to use this thing, or it’ll take over my life.

Let’s see… No phone while driving, no phone at the dinner table, no ignoring my child in favor of shiny new phone, no playing with phone as means of ignoring world around me.

That’s a good start.

Sarcastic Dad
When Sean does something that would only make sense for a toddler to do—say, for example, when he dumps his bowl of Cheerios all over the back seat—I find myself responding with irony. “Oh,” I say. “That’s great!” What is it that drives us to employ sarcasm with our children? They don’t understand it, so it’s purely for our benefit. It’s a way of blowing off steam without directly confronting the problem.

“Oh, that’s just super, Anakin. I was hoping you would use the force to pull the arms off all the droids. Now I get to put them all back on!”

But at what age do kids start understanding that you’re not being literal, and that there’s something a little darker in your tone? And at what age does it become necessary to really confront these little misbehavings directly?

I’m guessing the age to start addressing them directly is about eighteen months, because that’s about how old Sean is, and if I don’t deal with his Seananigans now, I’ll be in big trouble.