I have the following:
13 yr old girl
10 yr old boy
3 yr old boy

While we're on the subject...

Ok, ok I know the canned saying: “parenting is the greatest joy in the world” and “children are the greatest gift.”

Unfortunately, this aphorism does not resonate with me. I have 3 children and by and large, they are “good kids.” I honestly feel bad for them for being cursed with such a lousy father.

Here are my gripes, in no particular order:
1) Comparison. Maybe it’s the curse of social media, which has reduced us all to living in a fishbowl. Every Facebook or Instagram post I see reminds me of the glaring gap between my kids and others. Sure, these other families are only showing the highlights. However, I try and rack my brain for any similar positive accomplishments and consistently come up short. Again, it’s the age-old “grass is greener” adage; on paper, things seem great in my household. However, all I can think about is the fact that my kids are barely in any extracurricular activities, and it makes me feel inadequate.

2) Discipline. In the unwritten “Parenting for Dummies” book, it’s stated that a parent should try to “nurture” their child, and avoid draconian disciplinary measures. By contrast, I was raised in the “spare the rod, spoil the child” school of parenting. I get so annoyed when my 10-year old son fritters away the day on Minecraft, or binge-watching kids shows on Netflix. When I was his age, I was involved in Cub Scouts, tennis, guitar, and excelled in academics. No one had to push me – I was self-directed. In contrast, I have to get on him to do his homework every night; we’re told not to push him too much, and to let him “find his way” with activities. At this rate, he’ll be the “best-adjusted” high-school dropout janitor at McDonald’s (nothing against the custodial service profession).

3) Annoyance. This is a factor of the heightened sensitivity that comes with being bipolar. The slightest whine of my 3-year old, or a glass that falls on the ground sends me into orbit. My wife constantly implores me to be patient. However, I go ballistic when these minor eruptions take place. Sometimes I want to crawl into a hole and disappear. Instead, I often take the consolation prize: a bottle of red, a bottle of white; it all depends on my appetite. (Billy Joel song, for the uninitiated).

Of course when I was separated from my wife, all I could think about was the kids: how much I enjoyed spending time with them. Unfortunately, this was because I was living a fantasized version of parenting: taking them to restaurants, showering them with gifts, and playing video games until the wee hours of the night. When we got back together, I got the less fun, more gripe-filled "reality TV version." Grass is greener, indeed.

Does anyone else in this group feel this way? Do any of you find parenting as difficult as I do? Am I a “bad person,” or is this frustration simply part and parcel of being a Bipolar I with Depression guy / gal?

Would love to hear your thoughts.