All hail the Temper Tyrant!

Dear Loinspawn,

Sometimes you become an asshole. Your mother has however informed me that it’s frowned upon to compare one’s son to an anus, so henceforth you will be referred to as the Temper Tyrant Formerly Known as the Asshole.

Your transition is oft unpredictable and within a heartbeat we seesaw from I-love-you-so-much-you-are-my-whole-world to the-apocalypse-is upon-us-and-everyone-must-die. The metamorphosis from “aah cute!” to “oh shit!” is so instantaneous that time becomes irrelevant, which explains why it feels like you scream forever.

This morning you were still tickling my feet, laughing that sweet cherubic laugh which is what I imagine angels sound like when they’re having their tummies tickled with dodo feathers.

Then you looked at the dog. She looked back at you. I don’t know what horrific knowledge passed between you, but your mouth twitched. You scrunched your face together. Your eyes narrowed to tiny slits. You sucked in a deep breath of air…and then you howled.

Not like the dog, although she joined in too, but like someone who just dropped the last ice-cream in the world on the floor. Your arms flailed, your feet stomped. Your mother and I tried to turn a blind eye, but it’s hard to ignore the sea when the ship is sinking.

Life is tough, sometimes we have big feelings and you’re going to have to learn how to deal with them. Sometimes it’s okay that the dogs don’t want to be ridden like horses. It’s okay that Mommy wants to eat a chip with her left, not her right hand.

Sometimes your father doesn’t want to stand in the wind and rain, while you use the inside of the car for a jungle gym. Generally strangers in shops don’t like it when you run full speed into them with a trolley. And no, you’re still not old enough to have a glass of wine.

You shouldn’t get upset when we don’t allow you to put your finger in the plug and I apologise if the way I looked at you the other day, made you feel sad, but crying for fifteen minutes doesn’t solve the problem.

Sometimes you cry because you have to go bath. Then later you cry because we want to take you out of the bath. You cry because your mother is sitting not standing and sometimes you cry because we won’t let you swim in the morning when you wake up. At 5:30 am the water tends to still be a little cold. Sometimes you cry simply because you woke up. I get that one though. I shed a little tear too on Monday mornings.

So yeah, sometimes you are an asshole. So is everyone else. What counts is that most of the time you’re not. And soon you’ll learn how to eat, smoke, drink, sleep and medicate those big feelings away.

Until then I guess we’re tackling each day, one feeling at a time.

Love,

Dad.

 

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