Mistakes, I’ve Made a Few

We had an amazing debate last night.

As we watched a program about the ethics of eating veal, we discussed vegetarianism and from there we get on to the choices kids make. I said that I’d ask why Splodge had made a certain decision and what he/she had based the decision on. I said that I’d be compelled to point out anything in their process that was ‘wrong’ or ‘incorrect’.

The girl turns to me and asks me to quantify that. I tried, but every explanation I tried came off as me having control issues. Funny that you never realise what traits you have. As she later pointed out, I do tend to live with my head in the clouds and am totally consumed with everything and anything that pops into my head – when I tell people my fiancée knows me better than I know myself, I’m not being twee.

The conclusion I came to is that now more than ever, I realise how adults can project themselves onto their kids. It shook me up a little and left me laying there in bed trying to figure out if I could really get to know myself and avoid passing on the usual hangups offspring are often lumbered with.

– “You control what you can and set some boundaries and rules, but you can’t determine their path for them. You can’t yell at them not to touch the radiator because it’s hot: they have to find out for themselves to learn.”

– “But…”

– “Their path is their path. You can only hope that they make the right decisions and don’t fall in with the wrong kids. You have to be there when they fuck up and hope that they don’t fuck up too spectacularly.”

This, ladies and gentlemen, is another reason why I’m so in awe of my woman. She has such a balanced and laissez-faire approach compared to that of my constant state of flux and need to express and create – I lose sleep over things that I cant’ control. It made so much sense that I couldn’t help but gaze at her in wonder (which is no doubt either really creepy or irritating…possibly both).

I don’t want our baby to have the control issues I do. Time to ask myself who I am and take a fair few leaves from my girl’s book, and right at this moment, as I sit here typing after a 14-hour day that shows no sign of ending any time soon, I’d happily tear out my liver for a pisshead’s transplant to be at home with her, rubbing her back and suddenly finding the money to take her away for the weekend.