A good day.
I woke at 5:40 a.m. to the sound of my boy crying. I knew it was too early for him to be up, so I rocked him on the nursery rocking chair. He was out within 30 seconds, so I reclined the chair, and we shared an unconscious daddy/baby sleep session until 7:30.
The boy has us totally trained, not the other way around. Wife emerged from her precious sleep at 8 a.m., at which point I started my work preparation ritual: basically shaving, showering, weeping, cursing, driving, walking, and HELLO WORK! For the last five months, I've taken the stairs up six stories, but lately I've made a bargain with myself. If either of the two elevators are on the ground floor when I walk through the front door, I take the elevator; if not I take the stairs. It's funny how a lack of sleep will gradually alter your way of life. I should always take the stairs, just on personal principle, but I hate being slightly winded when my co-workers wish me "good morning."
By the way, today was the first day since. . . September. . . that I didn't walk from my car to my office wearing a coat. It's a mixed blessing, really. On the one hand: No coat! On the other hand: where do I store all my tech devices, wallet and keys? During the winter, I wear a coat with so many pockets, I'd make a D&D gnome envious; during the warmer months things get trickier. I carry, at a minimum, a wallet, my cell phone, my keys (with USB sticks!), and my Flip video camera (just in case I can become an instant citizen journalist). Stored in a coat, they aren't noticeable; in a front pants pocket, they look like rectangular erections.
Today was also a record warm day for Rochester, Minn., crushing the previous 2003 record of 71. At 82 degrees, it was fabulous. "Global Warming Climate Change!" you might scream. Meh. After a winter with a ridiculous near-record stretch of below 40 temps, I figure Mother Nature said "Fine, have some fun. I'll be back next week, shitheads."
Stopped into a Chinese restaurant on my way to my car from the office and, for the first time in three years, they got my wife's order wrong. Maybe it's the lack of adequate sleep, or I don't know, but hearing my wife complain about the food I waited around for after work just irked me. I mean, I'm sorry you got celery and pea pods instead of the white onions and green peppers you're used to. I'm also sorry you don't have have naked Nubian princes fanning you with ostrich feathers. Either way, I suspect you'll live.
I'm on baby duty tonight, which means I sit and monitor the baby. . . monitor. . . like I'm watching a stock ticker and waiting to yell BUY or SELL; the major difference being I advocate waiting several minutes while the baby cries before yelling SELL, while me wife races into the nursery to SELL before the second wail emanates from the boy's lungs. It's a philosophical baby-raising battle of wills, and so far I just let my wife have her way, since it basically means more sleep for me, at the very least.
Besides, she was correct in determining the baby was constipated earlier this week. He was. Totally was. I suspected he was as well, after witnessing him stop everything he was doing while suspended in his saucer toy, and basically grunting/screaming until his pacifier fell from his mouth. It was actually extreme comedy from my perspective, but it resulted in a tiny, highly compacted marble-sized piece of shit on his part. I knew there had to be more, considering the effort. And when the doctor put a lubricated pinkie up his bum, my suspicions were confirmed when several tightly packed Tootsie rolls emerged, amongst much crying.
The next day, after some MiraLax, "The Rest of the Story" as Paul Harvey would say, emerged, and good lord you could have planted a rain forest in that diaper, and the forest would have thrived for thousands of years.
Other than that, my life continues as it has for most of the last three months. Wake up. Amuse the boy for two hours at most. Wait for wife to wake up. Shower. Shave. Try to get to work by 9 a.m. Skip lunch. Leave work at 5 p.m. Repeat. Possible jiu-jitsu on Friday nights, if my wife isn't too frazzled.
I love my family. I just miss me and my old life, from time to time.
Posted by Ryan at April 1, 2010 09:19 PM | TrackBack
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