Let’s get right into it – no pulling punches.
My husband plays videogames. I’m not surprised, nor was I unaware of this fact when I fell in love with him. Much of the groundwork of our relationship was laid when we played World of Warcraft together as friends. And I will give him so very much credit; since we have been together, he has dialed back his gaming time to a fantastic degree. He still likes to play when I’m sleeping, or when I’m gone at work, but when I’m home and we’re together… we are together. There has never really been a time in the last three and a half years that I wished he would just put down his stupid game and come spend time with me.
Enter: baby.
Ronan has added a whole new function to the equation. We’ve all heard stories about those parents that stuff their kids in a closet in order to play games in peace, or that have neglected to feed their children for weeks while participating in a raid. There is no fear of that here, in this household. There is no competition between Ronan and a videogame.
There is, however, some troubling overlap. And this is where Brock and I don’t see eye to eye.
I may be a little strong-willed in my beliefs. There are certain things I hold to be true above all else, and I insist on making it so…
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