Humour

Come October, Jason and The Hockey Monster We Spawned will be donning their Montreal Canadiens jerseys and cuddling up on the couch in front of the TV for six months, while I grumble, ignored, in the background.

Parents are waxing rhapsodic about how this method is actually working for them. But there are so many more effective ways you can remind yourself to be a better parent and just how terrible of a parent you currently are.

“Honey, you know I’m not good at… these… technical things!” I sputter, on the verge of tears.

“Here’s the thing. I don’t have BOOBS,” says my husband, Jason.

While this cocoon of domestic bliss sounds like a good idea, as every mom who has seen her birth plan melt down into a juicy orgy of garbage fire, sometimes your best-laid plans don’t have a way of working out.

Don’t be afraid, hungry, angry Meghan—the mothers of the world are with you. And we have some new-mom advice.

We find a less precious, modern stiff-backed number at a hip Queen West furnishings store. I drag Jason to Crate & Barrel over his protestations that this was clearly evidence that his life is over. Nope, none of those comfortable couches will do either. We start to despair that the détente will ever come to an end.