I’m a new parent and I’m every one of the most obnoxious stereotypes you can imagine. I’m tired. I’m irritable. I only talk about my kid. If you try to talk about anything else, I will just take out my phone and force you to look at pictures of my kid. You probably hate me. But guess what, I hate you, too. Here are 9 things new parents just don’t care about anymore.
MY PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
I’ve worn the same shirt three times this week. I don’t shave anymore. When I do shave, I miss a quarter-sized patch of salt and pepper stubble every damn time. I have bags under my eyes that would make Jeff Van Gundy envious. I care about absolutely none of it. I can’t remember the last time I looked in a mirror. In fact, I just noticed I wore two different shoes to the office today.
WHAT MY HOME LOOKS LIKE
Sure, you can come over to see the baby, just be prepared to navigate through a war zone of baby clothes, adult clothes, baby toys and a variety of stains that are completely impossible to identify. By all means, go ahead and throw judging looks to your significant other as you tiptoe through the wreckage that is my home life. Let’s just be clear: I see your cursory glances and they have absolutely no impact on me.
COOKING ANYTHING FOR MYSELF
If I have enough energy to eat dinner at the end of the day, you can be damn sure I’m not preparing that shit myself. Every pizza, Mexican and Chinese place within 15 blocks of my apartment knows my order by heart. Most of them ask how the baby is doing. The more I think about it, I’m pretty sure the guy who brings me General Tso’s four times a week is my closest adult friend right now and he doesn’t speak English.
HOW TIRED YOU ARE
If I ask how you are doing and you don’t have kids and you start your answer with, “I’m so tired…” I need you to understand something: I hate you. I have fallen asleep with my eyes open three seconds into your story about the curated martini you tried last night. It’s fascinating stuff, I promise, it’s just I haven’t slept in three days because my 6-month-old caught a cough at daycare and keeps waking up at 2 AM, which means I have to go in there and console the crying baby until she falls back asleep…which usually only happens around 6 AM, when it’s time to get up and start the whole charade all over again. But please do continue about how happy hour got a little out of hand last night so you might have to cut out of work a little early today.
WATCHING THE BIG TV SHOW THE NIGHT IT AIRS
I love water cooler talk as much as the next guy, but my contributions these days amount to screaming “SPOILER ALERT!” and running out of the conference room every time someone brings up a quality Sunday night drama. I have definitely not seen the latest episode of anything, especially any show that airs at 9 PM or later. I’m going to need at least until Wednesday to catch up every week. Losing out on any sleep just to see Don Draper chain smoke or watch a dragon orgy just isn’t worth the pain I will experience when my kid decides Monday morning is the best time to set her internal alarm clock for 4:13 AM.
FANTASY SPORTS
I am now in charge of making sure that a tiny human is alive. That leaves very little time in my life to track the status of Joe Nathan’s elbow. My lineup is consistently full of injured players, crappy players and I think even one retired player. (Derek Jeter still starts, right?) The only thing worse than watching my team sink to the bottom of the standings each season is getting harassing e-mails from the unnecessarily intense league commissioner pestering me about roster requirements. I know you need me around to keep the league at the minimum amount of players, so don’t threaten me. I’ll keep David Wright in my lineup as long as I want, asshole.
YOUR PARENTING ADVICE
I know you’re just trying to help, but I don’t care what works for little Johnny. I spend every waking second with my tiny human offspring, I know exactly what keeps her happy and awake and breathing. The last thing I need to hear about in the few moments I have to talk to another adult is the best wipes for ass rashes.
HANGING OUT ANYWHERE THAT ISN’T MY COUCH
Considering every trip outside requires the packing and planning of a 10-day European vacation, the thought of meeting my friends out for anything — breakfast, lunch, dinner, a drink — makes me shudder. If you do finally corral me into hanging out, just know that there is a 90 percent chance I’m canceling the day before. Once we finally get out of the house you’re going to drag me to a crowded restaurant where I’ll piss off the entire staff with my giant stroller, baby bags and high chair. If I want to be served crappy food by someone who is angry at me, I’ll ask my equally exhausted wife to pop a Hot Pocket in the microwave for me. At least I can do that from the comfort of my couch in my sweatpants.
MY JOB
Read everything above this. I am a shell of a human. I can barely make it through each day alive. Do you think your e-mail about the typo in last week’s spreadsheet even registers once it starts bouncing around the rubble that used to be my brain? I have to set a reminder just to check my reminders. It’s a miracle I haven’t been fired yet. (I sure hope my boss isn’t reading this.)
