Daddysitting

Having only been a father for weeks, there are quite a few things that I've yet to experience.  Sure, I've got a grasp on the basics.  Changing diapers?  Check.  Losing Sleep?  Check.  Staring at baby and wondering just how in the world I had anything to do with something so amazing?  Check plus.

  

But when my wife told me she needed to get out of the house before she lost her mind, a tinge of panic ran through my body.

We’re going to be alone, just him and me?

Things suddenly got real. It hadn't dawned on me that at some point during the coming years we would be alone together. 

Nonetheless, my wife kissed us goodbye as if she were departing for a seasonal tour of Europe.  She waived as she ventured past the mailbox and into the car for a quick trip to the grocery store, wiping a tear from her eye as she drove up the road. 

I looked at my son,

“Well, no adults, what do you want to do?”

He looked up at me, his eyes wide and determined, as if to say:

“Entertain me or pay dearly.  Go.”

I began by introducing my son to stand up comedy, something clean of course.  We settled on Jim Gaffigan on Netflix--we're not quite ready for Eddie Murphy's Raw. Mr. Simon was awake and alert, having just been fed and changed; we sat down to enjoy our show when there was an explosion on my leg.  Ooops, back to the changing table...

We got all cleaned up and changed (again) with minimal crying. I was feeling pretty good about myself at that point, fifteen minutes in and no meltdown.  I got this.

It helped that we’re both very ADD.  Well I am, he’s a baby whose motor skills are still under development, so we make a pretty good pair. I made faces, sang silly songs, and kept him occupied with the ceiling fan until he was ready for a change of scenery.

I stood, rocked, shook (lightly, no need to become the basis for a lifetime movie), and bounced, shifting gears before either of us got too comfortable.  And after that, I sang, danced, baby talked, and pleaded. I did things I never imagined I would do, but it needed to be done.

As time wore on, my biggest concern was hunger, my son is a chow hound and at some point he was bound get hungry and start rooting around for a breast, at which time I would become useless because my nipples aren’t lactating. We were almost an hour in, and I was getting nervous.

But he was content.  Between the fan and some superb singing/rapping, he had plenty to keep him interested, and flat out amazed.  Approximately 58 minutes later, my wife pulled into the driveway. I smiled proudly, the baby resting safely in my arms.  She walked briskly towards the house, and just before she got to the door my son sold me down the river, screaming as though I was burning his toes and pinching his sides. 

She rescued him from the clutches of big bad daddy, playing unfair with her soft voice and nourishing breasts.  Mom and baby sat down for lunch, while I explained the great time we had together, the singing, the fan, the....forget it.  I'll continue to wait, until he's four or five and wants to do boy stuff.  We'll see who he likes better then.