I have never, in my *entire* life, witnessed someone more incompetent at being a father than Stephen. And it's not because he doesn't know what to do--he has two other kids!
OK, to catch you all up on the story, Stephen has done *nothing* to help Kelly out, unless you count sitting around, being annoying, and watching our big screen TV.
Out of all the stuff babies need, Kelly has purchased 98% of it. She purchased a bedroom set (crib, dresser, etc). Stephen contributed nothing. She purchased a ton of clothes. Stephen bought two ugly outfits totaling $40 each. Formula, diapers, the pack and play, diaper bags...she's done it all. And now that Anthony is in day care--to the tune of $210 a week--she's footing the entire bill for that too, to the point that she had to put her portion of the rent last month on a credit card because she didn't have the cash. Stephen's excuses have ranged from "Well, he's not even born yet!" to "He's only 6 weeks old!" to "Well, can you wait until I get my second job back?" (BTW, his own mom laid him off from working part time in her office, so I don't think he'll be getting called back soon.)Oh, but his ex wife gets her $635 every month without fail (for nothing--they have shared parenting, so he's not paying child support since he has the kids just as much as his ex does.)
Now, that would all be fine, if he were even remotely capable of pitching in with other things. But he's not. He can't do *anything* right when it comes to taking care of the baby, unless it doesn't interfere with his being on the laptop/talking to his dad on the phone about sports/watching ESPN and screaming at the TV.
For example, tonight--what set off the rant. I'm in the shower, and after I get out, I start up the steps to go fix me some dinner. When I got home, Kelly and Anthony were asleep on the couch, so when I heard Anthony crying (loudly) I didn't worry, because I figured he was just waking up and Kelly had him.
When I get into the living room, what do I see? Anthony propped up on the couch by some pillows, bottle half hanging out of his mouth. Stephen comes failing down from the third floor, all, "Oh, I had to use the bathroom and so I had to prop him up like that so he could eat." I asked where Kelly was, and Stephen said she went to the gym. OK, fine. I go out in the kitchen to fix dinner....and Stephen proceeds to go back upstairs, after re-propping the bottle in Anthony's mouth.
Of course, a few minutes later, Anthony's crying again, because the bottle (now sucked completely dry) is out of his mouth. I go pick him up, walk him around the kitchen, and we spend about 5 minutes looking and playing with this bird mobile in our kitchen that Kelly brought back from Mexico. Needless to say, Stephen? No where to be found. It took 6 minutes to cook my frozen dinner, and he was upstairs for at least 10. Bathroom my ass. We have a half bath on the second floor (where the living room, kitchen, etc is) so he could have used that one. Odds are he was in the bathroom upstairs all right...smoking weed. It's the only place he can smoke upstairs, and I didn't hear any toilet flushing before he came down.
It just...it pisses me off. You know, I know *nothing* about babies, but I use common sense and know that hey--he can't take care of himself so my needs have to come second sometimes. Yeah, if I have to use the bathroom, I don't hold it in till I explode....but I put him in his swing and then I go. And I certainly don't just leave him propped up on the couch with an empty bottle in his mouth.
And the thing is, that is completely par for the course with him. It's that type of dumbass behavior that happens *all* the time with him. A few weeks back, Anthony was sick, coughing and all and couldn't go to day care. So Stephen wants to take him to his house so his dad can see him. Out in the middle of winter, to Stephen's dusty, smoky house. And as Kelly pointed out, Stephen can't *not* smoke in the car, so he'd have the window down, speeding down the highway, with cold air blowing back on the baby. Kelly politely asked him to please not take the baby out, and he was gonna do it anyway. Luckily, I left work a couple hours early that day, so I came home and watched him (and BTW, right after Stephen left, I noticed Anthony's diaper must have weighed about 80 pounds, it was so wet. I saved it to show Kelly, and she couldn't believe it--it didn't look like he'd been changed all day. Probably because football shows were on ESPN.)
Also he pays no attention to how he feeds the baby, so every single time he feeds him, the baby pukes. Without fail. I mean, a couple weekends ago, Kelly had to run errands, and asked me to stay here and watch Stephen watch the baby. I mean, if that doesn't tell you everything you need to know, I don't know what to tell ya.
And I want to scream when I hear him up there baby talking to Anthony, because dude--you don't get to do that unless you're gonna put in the effort to take care of his needs! Yeah, I wish he was happy and smiling and cooing at me when I baby talk to him all the time too, but Kelly and I also have to deal with the puke/poop/pee side of things too. So we've earned the right to get to do the fun stuff involved with taking care of him, as far as I'm concerned.
I really wish Kelly would kick him to the curb. She hates when he's here--she told me one time she wish he would just disappear from our lives. Yeah, don't we all.
Anyway, if there ever was an argument for just going to a sperm bank, this would be it.