The Hidden Pain of Parenting

My own little tyke (now 3-years old) is quite the little street fighter. His father is from Liverpool so he is half-Dutchie and half-Scouser (quite a testosterone combination if you ask me).

One night, he must have been two or thereabouts I was awoken by a Liverpool kiss from my youngster. Now a Liverpool kiss is when one is head-butted on the part of your nose right between the eyes. Although the little man was fast asleep and oblivious to my pain, it smarted bad enough to bring tears to my sleepy eyes.

On other occasions little Troy sees it fitting to take a running start and then launch himself on me WWE-style during a very emotional moment of Grey’s Anatomy (or any other unsuspecting moment of total relaxation). If you ignore the shock of the unexpected attack one is still left gasping for air because the wind has been knocked out of you.

That is when Troy exclaims – “l’m funny – hey!”.

Knowing one doesn’t suffer these hidden pains of parenting alone and that other parents are also under siege makes it that much more bearable. Luckily my booboos still get kissed better and off course when he says: “Don’t cry mommy. It will be awright…”, you can’t help but indulge in a little Stockholm syndrome towards your tiny attacker who managed to capture your heart forever and unconditionally.
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