Being Productive With A Newborn In The House

After 7 weeks of being a dad, I'm pretty sure I've got this thing licked. Some sacrifices have been made and a few hobbies curtailed, but I've found a way to balance writing and parenting by way of scheduling and multi tasking.  Changing diapers while brainstorming isn't easy, but I can assure you, it hasn’t affected my creative juices. Not in the least.

For example, let’s take a look at a sonnet I wrote last night as the baby slept.  I don't claim to be a poet, but as my son rocked gently in his swing--blissfully content in his slumber, I picked up the pen and let the verses flow. The result was this beauty:

The stormy nigh

He wasn't content for long, and my poem appears to be more of a haiku of sorts.  Oh well, poetry has never been my strong suit, I’ll work on that one.  Moving on.

I’ve also been polishing up my prose.  Writing short stories is something I've always enjoyed and hoped to continue to write in my spare time.  Just before my son was born I was struck with an idea for story.  It's a timeless tale of love and heartbreak with a dark twist as....here, read for yourself:

As the days forge ahea-

The dog barked, the baby screamed, and I spilled a lukewarm bottle of breast milk on the keyboard just as I got cranking, so that one may need some work. And words. Okay, so maybe my writing has taken a hit, but I’ve managed to keep up with my reading.  Over the weekend, I read the same paragraph no less than eight times.  How’s that for being thorough?  It was about a um, well most of it involved, I think it had something to do with. Hang on,

Sorry, I had to change a diaper.  Don’t worry, I washed my hands.  Where was I, oh yeah.  Hold on. Okay, I’m going to cut this short as the little one needs attention and I only have one jand to finish thyping jhis post.. 

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.

No Sleep Til Nukland?

I just want to put it out there that you may notice a bit of a decline in the quality of my writing.  So please brace yourself, my normally impeccable prose may suffer due to some serious lack of sleep.  The first few days were a sea of bliss, well for me, not sure my wife would say the same thing.  Mr. Simon was sleeping 4-6 hours throughout the night, stirring every now and then with cute little grunts.  But then came last night…

The sheer force of my tiny son's wail is beyond impressive.  I will have to buy the neighbors something nice as his late night screaming was a deafening blend of anger and agony.  Oh, want to change my diaper?  Hear my roar!  I found myself apologizing to him in the middle of the night, standing over him with a wet wipe in hand, scared to death that I was seriously hurting him.

Today, I’m disoriented and sleep deprived.  Earlier I went to the bathroom only to find my boxers shorts were on backwards.  I’m having trouble staying on task in my loopy state.  I sometimes walk on the moon while wearing yellow socks.  What was I saying?  Oh yeah, I need sleep.

Things have changed on the marriage front as well.  With my wife breast feeding, the term boob shirt has taken on an entirely new meaning.  The other day I walked in and…you know what?  I’m going to leave my wife out of this one.  She is doing a wonderful job in her role as mom, and although last night was taxing for the both of us, one day we’ll look back and laugh.  I'll save it for later...

I've already had several people tell me to enjoy every moment, even the late night sleepless ones, so I’ll take their advice.  And while my productivity may plummet at work, and my blog has already been said to have gone to poop, all it takes is one look at my little guy to get me through the day...I already know I'm not getting through the night.