A Simple Truth: Parenting (Occasionally) Equals Pain

Earlier today, my son was running around the house crying, seemingly for no reason.

Concerned, I chased after him to console him and reassure him that everything would be alright, whatever the cause of his tears.

That's when he wound up and kicked me in the balls.

I'm pretty sure the word "fuck" not only crossed my lips, but was also spelled out in white-hot flames on my forehead.

None the less, I picked him up - still kicking and screaming - and hugged him tightly... although not so tightly as to misconstrued as an attempt to smother him.

I then put him down and stumbled over to my favourite rocking chair where I collapsed, choking back the barf and muttering some of the most foul language ever heard by human ears. (I think I may have even invented some new swears in there somewhere.)

I guess the reason I'm telling you this is because if you're thinking about having children, ask yourself this; what's your tolerance for pain? 'Cause sometimes your recompense for loving your kids is a swift kick in the nuts.

That said, I wouldn't change a thing. I'll just start wearing a cup around the house.