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These are the parenting facts of life.

From the moment our kids show up, we as parents enter into a world of conflict dictated by Catch-22 and moderated by Murphy’s Law. Try as we might, we get caught up in a world of oxymorons and ironies, wanting nothing but the best for our children while realizing that best is too elusive.

And so we choose the lesser of two evils or the better of two goods and proceed with caution, living to fight another day.

We want to provide for our children so we work jobs we don’t love in the hopes that they’ll be able to learn enough and apply for one they do love one day.

We give them an extra bottle right before bedtime thinking it will make them sleep later only to have them wake up sooner than ever.

We take rides in planes and trains to earn the money we need to pay for the house we all live in together, even when we’re not there.

We want them to walk soon so we don’t have to carry them around everywhere, but as soon as they do they’re running out the door to hang out with someone they deem a bit more worthy of their time.

We want the best education, the best environment, the best home, and the best peers for them. But too often, reality smacks us in the face and we realize we’ll never offer the best.

Maybe that’s because, at the end of the day, and at the end of their childhood, we’re only able to offer ourselves. And we each know that we’re far from perfect, far from best.

Hopefully, when we offer ourselves, we find out that’s all they wanted. Coming home from a business trip to an eight-week-old will do wonders for your corporate soul when she looks up and smiles when she hears your voice at 9 PM, wanting both that bottle in your hand and the comfort of your arms.

It doesn’t matter who manufactured the bottle, how fancy that rocker is, how clean the house is, or what kind of onesie she’s in. It does matter where she is, whom she’s near, and that she’s loved.

It’s that same connection that urges them, when running out the door at eight or eighteen, to look back, make eye contact for half of a second, and say, “Be back soon, Dad.”

Dad. Mom. Grandma. Auntie. You can’t buy those titles. And they’re meaningless if you don’t offer yourself completely as part of the deal. Don’t worry about fretting over the best. Take the good with the bad and give them your life.

“My whole world, it begins and ends with you.“ – Zac Brown

Sam Davidson writes about being a dad on Fridays. He’s made it seven weeks so far. His next feat of greatness? Starring in his own Alice commercials.

I’ve tried hard these last seven (yikes!) weeks to not let my house look like Graco vomited all over it. I’ve got the standard baby accoutrements littered throughout my house, of course: a bouncer, a swing, a pack-n-play, a car seat, a baby monitor. But, I’ve tried my hardest to not feel as though I need every gadget and baby innovation on the market.

Of course, once you have these items – or any items – you’ve got to put them together. Since my daughter isn’t using too many accessories yet, I usually wait until Big Guy (that’s her grandfather on my wife’s side) gets into town and assembles what needs assembling. But even after that process, there’s a final step that can’t be overlooked, that stands in the way between your child’s wails of boredom and your sanity:

Six million batteries.

Somewhere in the past three years, I think the FDA required that all toys for children under 12 months require batteries to work. Back when I was a kid, I was given a spoon to occupy myself until I had a sister and it was expected that we’d entertain each other while mom slept. When the other sister came along, the numbers weren’t even, so more fights erupted. After all, we did only have the one spoon to share among us.

Not my daughter. She’s got some walkie-talkie thing that is supposed to make her smarter. Then there’s the play thing that will make her more popular one day. Mix in some stuff animals with moving parts and drums that can roll on the floor and you’ll have more gadgets and circuitry than the first mission to the moon. If I were more MacGyver-like, I’d have pieced together an HDTV out of all this plastic and copper.

Most perplexing of all, of course, is the fact that I never have the right batteries. Or the right amount. If the toy requires three, I’m two short. If it needs eight, I need to pull the three out of both TV remotes. Then, when Matlock comes on after America’s Funniest Home Videos, well, I’ve got to actually stand up and change the channel. Makes me think back to my toy spoon days.

The solution? Stock up on batteries like they’re diapers. Before too long, I’m sure her diapers will require batteries. Lucky for me, Alice sells both.