While Miles mercifully waited until around 5:00 this morning to start screaming for us and banging on his door, I once again found myself imploring him to stop doing that every night and just let his mother and I get one damned night of peaceful sleep.
“I wasn’t screaming,” Miles corrected. “I was calling for you.”
Also, “I wasn’t banging. I was knocking.”
And with that, the bulk of our commute this morning was spent debating the technical definitions of ‘screaming’ and ‘banging.’ Good grief, they say that nothing can truly prepare you for parenthood, but I didn’t realize that arguing semantics with a three-year-old was going to be a part of all this.
The Perils (& Pride) of Paternity 