The Hardest, Most Rewarding Part

First, an introduction is in order.  I’m Boogie’s Dad, William.  I managed to convince Boogie’s Mom that I also had some Gage stories to share.  So, I hope you all enjoy my different perspective on the munchkin’s life as well.  There, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way…

I’ve discovered that, with parenting, the most rewarding parts are always the hardest.  Tonight was my late night home from work; so I strolled in the door at six.  That left the question of, “What’s for dinner?”  “I don’t care, what do you want?” etc.  After we solved that endless, daily debate we took a short drive around the corner to Chick-fil-a as a family.  It wasn’t until the short drive home that I saw the little head in the rear view mirror starting to do the bobble.  You know the one I’m talking about, the “I’m not tired daddy,” but I can’t hold my eyes open and stop drooling head bobble.  Gage was beyond tired, and we were looking at a ripe hour of about 7:15.  Early I know, but close to normal bedtime for my little rug rat.

We made it home, I unloaded the sack of potatoes from his car seat and carried him in.  What is it about walking in the house that is like an instant espresso shot for toddlers?  Naturally, Gage wakes up immediately and inconsolably wants his fruit cup and waffle fries from “the Chick-fil-a store.”  Little did he know that’s he’s still too tired to decide on much of anything; so none of the fries are big enough for him to eat, but he insists on Sarah finding “a big one.”  We’re talking Mission Impossible here folks.  The parental dictatorship finally decides that nothing good can come of any further whining from the toddler section; so we start the bed time assembly process. So we thought, here is where the civil war started.  He didn’t fight fair, alligator tears and silent sobs.

Bless his little heart, he was so tired he couldn’t tell up from down.  He just wanted a french fry.  (That’s what he thought, but I knew none of them were “big enough”.  Remember, I’d been through this already.)  Mom and Dad tried to soothe him to no avail.  So Dad had to channel his inner calm and take Gage to the rocker and sit out the tears and convince Gage that he was okay.

Now what parent wants to sit and watch their child cry?  I don’t mean leave their child to throw a hissy fit in the floor, I mean truly sit and hold their child while they cry alligator tears of true heartbreak.  What Parent?  None.  Now I know Gage wasn’t really heartbroken, but I’m twenty-eight.  In Gage’s three year-old mind he was heartbroken, and I knew that the best thing that I could do for him was to sit there with him and just be close to him.  So Dad got to watch his son’s little heart break, help him pick up the pieces, cobble them back together, and then move on just like normal with a night-time routine.  Don’t forget, this was all over a waffle fry that he didn’t get to eat, and wouldn’t have eaten anyway because it wasn’t big enough…

However, it’s these hardest times as a parent that are the most rewarding.  Sarah and I usually alternate reading bedtime stories to Gage, and tonight was Sarah’s turn.  However, due to Gage’s broken heart, he was given a choice.  Now, you have to understand, that Gage tends to favor his mother, especially when Dad forces him to do anything, that includes calming down.  But somehow tonight was my night.  When Gage was asked who he wanted stories from, he laid his little soggy head on my shoulder and said, “You Daddy, not Mama tonight.”