10 Reasons My Toddler Is My Boss (And Why I’ll Never Get a Raise)

Being a stay-at-home dad of a special needs child is a lot like working for a CEO who has no qualifications, no chill, and a strict “breakfast must be served in the correct color bowl or else” policy. The job comes with zero pay, no benefits, and an on-call schedule that would make emergency room doctors jealous.

My tiny dictator is now six years old and happens to have Pitt Hopkins Syndrome, a rare genetic condition that affects her development, mobility, and—most notably—her ability to talk. She’s nonverbal, which means I’ve become fluent in interpreting aggressive hand gestures, reading facial expressions like I work for the CIA, and attempting high-stakes snack negotiations with absolutely no words involved. I am constantly guessing what she wants, constantly getting it wrong, and constantly being bailed out by my wife, who thankfully works remotely and has the patience of a Buddhist monk on CBD gummies.

And yeah, this is my first non-political post in a while. Because as much as I love screaming into the void on Bluesky about things I can’t personally fix, it turns out that just stresses me out and solves nothing—kind of like Elon Musk rebranding Twitter as “X” because he thinks slapping an edgy name on something will fix it. If I wanted an app with a dumb name that constantly made my life worse, I’d just let my daughter rename my phone contacts again. (I still have someone saved as “Pickle Grandpa,” and I have no idea who that is.)

So instead of yelling about Trump’s latest attempt to scam his supporters while pretending he can read, I wanted to dump some thoughts on something that actually matters to me—my daughter, my life, and the absolute chaos of being a stay-at-home dad to a nonverbal child with developmental disabilities.

1. Work-Life Balance? Cute Concept, Doesn’t Exist

I have not had a single uninterrupted moment since 2018. My shift technically starts when she wakes up, except she doesn’t sleep normally, so my shift actually starts whenever she damn well decides it does.

2. My Performance Reviews Are BRUTAL

If you’ve ever had a job where the feedback was a little too honest, welcome to my world. My boss may be nonverbal, but she has zero issues making her feelings known.

3. My Salary Is in Crumbs and Chaos

I don’t get paid in money. My compensation package includes:
✅ Half-chewed snacks I neither asked for nor want
✅ Spontaneous headbutts (aka, her version of love taps)
✅ A permanent state of exhaustion from raising a nonverbal child

4. My Wife Secretly Runs This House, and I’m Just Here for the Ride

I may be the stay-at-home parent, but she’s the infrastructure, the stability, the CFO, COO, and CEO of this operation. I handle the daily chaos, but she makes sure this ship doesn’t sink.

5. Sick Days? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

If I’m sick, my boss doesn’t say, “Oh no, Dad, you should rest.” No. She doesn’t care. If my wife weren’t remote, I would have died of the flu in 2021, no question.

6. No One Respects My Complaints About Being a Stay-at-Home Parent

When I tell people my boss is intense, they laugh and say:

• “You’re so lucky to be home with your kid!”
• “This is the best time of your life!”
• “I wish I could stay home all day, too!”

Do you, though? Do you, Brad? Because I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t last one week in this household before resigning and filing a hostile work environment complaint.

7. There Is No Clocking Out for Stay-at-Home Parents of Special Needs Kids

Technically, bedtime should be when my shift ends. Instead, it’s when my overtime begins. And no, I don’t hear “DADDY?” in the night, because she doesn’t talk—but that doesn’t mean I’m off the hook. My daughter has silent demands, and I have to stay alert for the sudden shifting, the urgent movements, the mystery frustrations that require immediate action. And if I fail? Mom is back to fix it, because of course she is.

8. My Boss’s Communication Style Is… Unconventional, to Say the Least

She does yell. Just because she’s nonverbal doesn’t mean she’s silent—oh no, she’s got volume control set to “air raid siren” whenever something is not to her liking. If she doesn’t like something, I will know, the neighbors will know, and possibly NORAD will put us on alert.

Meanwhile, Elon Musk tweets memes at his employees instead of paying them, and Trump just shouts over reporters until he decides the conversation is over. Compared to them, my daughter’s communication skills are downright effective.

9. My Daughter Is Both the Cutest and Scariest Person I Know

One minute, she’s giggling hysterically, making my entire day. The next, she’s staring at me like I just committed the gravest betrayal of all time because I put her snack in the wrong bowl.

Toddler wrath is absolute. I have seen fear, and it is a child who just realized you handed them the red cup instead of the blue one.

10. And Yet… I Wouldn’t Change a Thing About My Life as a Special Needs Dad

Because yeah, the work is brutal. Yeah, my boss runs this house with an iron fist and zero understanding of mercy. But she’s also hilarious, incredibly loving, and the absolute best part of my life. She’s nonverbal, but her communication is loud and clear—she loves me, she needs me, and I will never, ever be replaced (even if I do constantly need my wife to fix my mistakes).

Why I’ll Never Quit Being a Stay-at-Home Dad to a Nonverbal Child

So yeah, I’m never getting a raise. I’m probably never getting a promotion. In fact, my job security depends entirely on keeping my toddler happy and my wife from deciding she could run this house without me. But at the end of the day, I already have the best job I’ll ever have.

I may not get a paycheck, but I get a front-row seat to my daughter’s world, a chance to see her grow, learn, and conquer challenges in ways that amaze me daily. And even though my wife is technically the one who keeps things running smoothly, I like to think that I bring a certain flair for controlled chaos that keeps things interesting.

At least until my wife fires me.