12 August 2011

When Paternity is hard

I was speaking glowingly about paternity most of last week and the weekend and about how great it was to have a family. This coin has two sides and I'll write this with one hand while I use the other to rock the carseat. Why is there a naked two-year old shouting in the hallway?

This week was hard at work. I slogged through comments on my thesis and cut and wrote and cut and wrote ruthlessly. It was hard, but it was good, I got to about 2pm today and I saw where I was going and how I was going to get there: a second draft on the horizon. This tough week, however, needed to be capped with a beer and pizza, from what I could tell. I didn't want to talk to anyone: I wanted to go out by myself, have dinner and go take in a film. Maybe celebrate my newfound sterility later. I'm a student still, right? Students can have a good time once in a while.

Of course, this was not going to happen: I came home to a perpetual disorder machine, a new gluten-free house (Mei is allergic apparently), and Naomi having had a blowout with her mother. Someone pee'd the bed, Naomi can't seem to calibrate her voice for the indoors, Mia won't just go the hell to sleep, Mei is throwing things at her sister, the lounge floor is sticky with something... Pizza and beer, a quiet evening alone? No, no, that's twenty years away. You can have ten minutes at the kitchen table to drink a bit of coffee and eat some sunflower seeds, but there's some disturbance in the force upstairs brewing that you will need to take care of in five... four... three... two...

Ugh. I'll be done feeling sorry for myself in a second. Just give me a second, hey?