Last night I heard the tell-tale sound of my dog getting in the garbage. I called out to her, expecting her to come slinking in the room with her tail between her legs and a look of remorse on her face. Instead, she casually wandered in, dropped a piece of trash at my feet, and gave me a look that clearly said, “I have no fucks left to give, human. Your move.”
I quietly threw the trash away and said nothing. These are the moments that make me painfully aware that I’m not cut out to be a parent.