Franzone Family Blog

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Report: Many U.S. Parents Outsourcing Child Care Overseas

Yesterday’s tale in the continuing saga of Mr. Mom was a new one. I’ve experienced this before, but never on the scale of all day long. What am I talking about? Being a slave to my one-year-old beautiful little girl. How is this possible? Read on.

I sit down in front of my computer to just check my email. It’s about the sixth unsuccessful attempt at doing so. Avery, my daughter, toddles up to me and babbles off some cute gibberish. She then grunts at me and turns as if walking away, but pauses and stares back at me. Her bright twinkling little brown eyes flash at me and her pudgy little grin just beckons to be smooched. I’m determined to at least weed through the spam in my Inbox, however and so turn back to the screen. She comes back to my side and grunts louder this time. I persist in my task convinced that if I just ignore the cutey-pie, she’ll just go to playing with something on the floor nearby. Wishful thinking. Her grunts and ramblings become increasingly loud and she even feigns a cry (no tears included). She reaches up and pulls on my shirt and shorts. Next she grabs the finger on my hand that is closest to her and leans almost at a 45 degree angle to pull me from my task.