It seems like I've done hardly anything with my time. And it's not the kind of time-wasting that happens on a good mental health day away from work where you sleep in and wear pajamas all day and watch daytime TV and nap on the couch and order pizza at three in the afternoon. When I tried to watch a movie during the day, I had to watch it in increments. It took me three days to watch Where the Wild Things Are. And that's a problem for me because I'm a film snob. Even at home, I like the real movie experience with the loud surround sound on the giant screen TV. And no interruptions. If you can't watch a movie all the way through, you're not feeling it the way it should be felt.
This, of course, doesn't work when you have a baby in your arms. And I accept that. I can not watch the Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist DVD I got for Christmas. I can even put off watching episodes of The Office or 30 Rock because I know I'll just buy the DVDs later. And later Xander will sleep at night and I will not be so tired and I will find more time for the entertainment I got used to before the boy entered the picture. Maybe in a few years.
There are other things that shouldn't really be put on hold, though. For instance, I've hardly been outside these past few weeks. Literally, I will go days without exiting or even opening the doors to my house. And not only is that sad because Colorado seems to be having the most mild tail end of winter ever, but last autumn's leaves still cover my lawn. My wife went into the hospital in the middle of October last year, and even though Xander wasn't born until November, and even though he didn't come home until December, I haven't done anything with the yard since last summer.
It's not a huge deal, but I'm a yard snob. I'm a healthy, capable man, and my yard should reflect that. The lawn should be lush and the bushes should be sheared and that takes a little work. The roses should be trimmed and the lilacs cut back and the leaves should be raked up. Not this year. I was lucky to find the time to turn the sprinklers off and close up the swamp cooler. Otherwise we'd be in for a heap of trouble come springtime. At least the things that are not getting done outside are merely cosmetic.
So many other little things don't get done inside. Sweeping and vacuuming. Folding laundry. Sorting mail. In the middle of the TV room downstairs, where we haven't been for weeks, a stack of CDs and DVDs has toppled over and created an Olympus Mons of entertainment options. It's a good thing the baby doesn't sleep in his crib yet, because he'd be smothered by all the bedding and clothing that has just been tossed in there all higgledy-piggledy. And by higgledy-piggledy, I mean a big mess.
I suppose I could stop typing right now and get to work around the house. The only way I'm getting this writing done in the first place is because Xander is asleep in his swing. As I type, he stirs, and I need to get a bottle prepared for him.
|Now that's what I'm talking 'bout.|
I don't mean for this to become a rant against being a stay-at-home parent. Just the opposite, in fact. I don't want to change what I'm doing. I'm raising my son. He smiles when he sees me, laughs when I tickle him. I soothe him when he's frustrated, comfort him when he's sick. And on that sappy note, I'll restate:
As of today, I have one month left of my paternity leave. Just four weeks left to accomplish all the great things I had planned. You know, raise a child, save the world. They're little things, really.