Saturday, October 29, 2011

Pancakes, Poop, and Other Items

Saturdays are sacred. After a week toiling at a horrible, soul-robbing job, and the full-time dad duties when I get home, I really, really look forward to Saturday. There's also a standing rule on Saturdays that Dad can open a beer at any point in the day without any guilt, eye-rolling, or 'oh, so you're drinking' commentary from the wife. This rule doesn't apply during the week. It's a great day. Full of opportunity and promise, and it's the farthest point from having to go back to work. Like any other day though, the morning sets the tone for the whole day.
 Today started off like any other…

6:58 a.m. I wake up to dog whining. He does this to wake me up. Between that and the constant pacing back and forth in and out of the bedroom, you might as well ring a gong over my head. I'm up. It's still dark out and after back-to-back-to-back nights of post midnight bed times, I'm freaking tired and may or may not be swearing at the dog. The savage gang of neighborhood raccoons visited us again last night, teasing and torturing him until he finally passed out. I suspect he woke up and remembered they may still be outside the window the same way a kid who wakes up and realizes its Christmas morning.

7:10 a.m. Moderately dressed. Dog let out and I talk myself into some DVR catch-up time on the couch. I'm distracted by the clock as I watch the minutes tick by. I could do this all day, but know it won't happen.

7:28 a.m. The first coo's, grunts, and "da-da, da-da's" are heard through the baby monitor. Uh, oh. Please, just a few more minutes. Need to finish this South Park episode.

7:44 a.m. The cute baby sounds have escalated into what imagine to be loosely translated as "I'm awake folks. Now someone get their ass in here and get me out! Now!"

7:48 a.m. Baby up. Diaper changed. We peek into the bedroom to check on the wife. We quickly leave as she's still asleep. I secretly try and let my wife sleep in on the weekends whenever possible to gain favors. I then try and cash those in later in the day when the game's on, I want to go to Best Buy, or it's time to make happy-time with Dad. Don't judge me. Not that it would matter much. The wife sleeps like she's dead. She looks like she's auditioning to be in a crime scene on C.S.I.

8:00 a.m. I squeeze in a few minutes more of T.V. time but interrupted by distant grunting. That would be the tell-tale sign of the daughter taking a poop. A trait she established long ago. Stand in the corner and grunt, poop. Stop in mid-stride and grunt, poop. Grab the coffee table and double over and grunt, big poop. I'm not talking little baby grunts either. These are aggressive, aspiring tennis player grunts that would be disconcerting if you didn't know what was going on. Guess I'll be changing this one.

8:05 a.m. Baby girl is apparently hungry as she begins to climb into her high chair as if it's Mt. Everest. As the personal chef for the wife and now eating adult food baby girl, I start breakfast. Pancakes.

8:27 a.m. Pancakes made, baby fed, and the clanging of pans and dishes has aroused the wife. She gives the usual "Oh, I didn't know you guys were up, thanks for letting me sleep" spiel that I will cash in later.

8:35 a.m. Wife has sequestered herself into the office. She's in grad school and spends her weekends mostly studying. So she gets a hall pass. I feel sorry for her but it also means Saturdays I turn into a rodeo clown trying to distract, entertain, and otherwise keep baby girl from destroying things and away from the wife.

9:35 a.m. For the past hour of dancing, book reading and block stacking, I've managed to hold serve. But for a few minutes (Cool Hand Luke is on!) I'm distracted and fail to notice she has disappeared. I get up to investigate and find baby girl emerging from our bedroom with a pair of panties around her neck. Yup, panties. For whatever reason, she has a new fetish of putting things over her head and around her neck. Belts, shopping bag handles, the dog's leash, and now apparently panties.

Awesome. I make a mental note to double check where the nearest emergency room is.

10:19 The near strangulation-by-panties episode has repeated itself twice more. Each time with a different pair. In my defense, the wife puts her thingy's in weird places and I can't possibly anticipate them all. Cool Hand Luke is almost done and she has spent the past hour treating me like her own personal jungle gym. My neck feels like its bleeding and I haven't been to the bathroom in three hours. I notice the clock and realize we're still two hours from nap time and the earliest chance to do anything that doesn't involve an 18 month old attached to your leg.

10:26 a.m. Grunt and poop episode number two for the day. I announce, "I got this one!" to no one in particular. Starting to itch for the first beer of the day which is not a good sign, rule or no rule.

Good times. Saturdays.

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