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Through my childhood, I always thought the adults in the room were in charge.

They told me what to do, and when to do it. If it weren’t my mom and dad, it was teachers, coaches, administrators and other figures of authority that I gave power to just because they had been on the Earth longer, framing my world. Directing, I thought, my actions.

Were I left to my own devices, if there weren’t adults around, and this came to include my sisters, would I have finished high school? I mean, I pretty much hated it. It sucked. Classrooms with clocks were like torture chambers. How could a minute take so long? At some point, I might have just not gone. Or, I probably would have skipped just enough to make graduating strenuous.

I thought the adults were in charge.

Now that I have a child, I realize that the adults really aren’t in charge. The child is running the show.

Really, would my wife be up every 3 hours if she were calling the shots? I’ve seen her call the shots, and when she does she gets a solid eight or 9 hours of nap time.

I was pushing Huck (my son) around the store the other day. For the first hour, he was fine. After that, motion was required. He let me know that if I wanted him to keep quiet, he’d do it, I just had to keep the cart moving. So, not only was I running errands to keep the home that supports him running, but I was going to have to do it on his terms.

Touche, son.

I have come to realize that the kids are in charge. Let’s be honest. They are running the show. We do our best to not let them know, and it doesn’t matter if they’re are aware of it, but it’s the tail wagging the dog, all day long.

The balance of power and how it is displayed morphs over the years. It’s never so obvious and prominent who is in charge as it is with a little baby. They can’t do anything for themselves, except scream when they are unhappy. That is their functional activity, the thing they can do that will make something happen for themselves.

Hungry? Scream and cry.

Dirty? Scream and cry.

Tired? Scream and cry.

Startled? Scream and cry.

Wet? You get the picture.

It's like Jerry Seinfeld said, if aliens land and see me picking up my dog's poop, who do they assume is in charge. The dog is the king in that relationship.

My function for some of each day is poop disposal and baby clean up. King Baby. Hail to the King.

So, how do parents find happiness in this subservient role? Again, a comedian already said it better than I ever could. Here's Louis CK with Terry Gross on NPR's Fresh Air. The interview is great, I recommend it. This is what he said that hit me like a ton of bricks.

When I first got married and had kids, I had some friends I played poker with on Mondays and I thought: The poker game on Mondays, that's the water line. If I don't make that game, I'm losing something. I'm losing something if I don't make it to that game. It means I'm letting go of my youth, I'm letting go of my manhood, all these things — my independence.

But then after a while I realized: Why would I want to go play poker with a bunch of guys in a smoky room when I could be at home with my family? I realized that a lot of the things that my kid was taking away from me, she was freeing me of. There was this huge pride in having a kid and also that I didn't matter anymore. The greatest thing about having a child is putting yourself second in your own life. It's a massive gift to be able to say you're not the most important person to yourself.

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