Love and Basketball

I've made my return to basketball night after a brief hiatus, coming back as a dad  with with a heightened sense of maturity and composure. 

Okay, not quite. Coming back as a dad, I felt a bit guilty enjoying a couple hours of playing ball while my wife sat at home, her only exile from the house in the past month being a trip to the grocery store.

But I was on a roll, and it was only for two hours. Two.  Out of 168 hours in the week, minus the 40 for work of course.  That leaves all those other hours to hold, bounce, change, and make up songs for my son.

A few of the guys were surprised at my quick return. Others were more impressed with my wife and her allowing me to return. This made me start to question my being out there, and I began to wonder if I should be helping out a little more?  (At home, not on defense).

So I asked my wife again when I got home, and she confirmed that she is cool with basketball night.  Even if it does mean that she'll get no relief until I come home, sweaty and tired, and being of little use. 

I thought that was the end of it, but then a few days ago, as our son was pooping in the tub and screaming for all the neighbors to hear, I slithered off into the night with my gym bag tucked under my arms. Now that I type it, I do kinda suck...

Before Simon was born, I used to play two or even three nights a week.  I know that is not an option anymore, and I wouldn't want to leave him anyway.  I only ask for that one night to get out.  Is that too selfish? 

And this debate rages on, not between my wife and me, but between me and that little voice in my head...the one that sounds like hers. 

I’m getting exercise, in effort to prolong my life, isn't that a good thing? Why, it's not like you're helping out, deadbeat! 

I’m letting off some steam, getting out of the house is good for my well being. It's all about you isn't it? 

It's not like I can breast feed him.  No, but you could clean up while your wife keeps your son alive!  

Man, it's exhausting being me...

I'm looking forward to when he's two or three, maybe then he can come along and work on his game with dad.  He's already boxing me out on the boob.

In all seriousness, I fully understand that life will ever be the same, I knew that going in. In the end, I guess my question is this:  As parents, what happens to our time?

Is it too much to think that we can carve out time for ourselves, or did our time end upon delivery?  Does it resume after a year, after two, 18? I'm not sure my jumpshot can endure that much time off.