This space is for friends, family and sworn enemies alike to bask in and reminisce about parenthood. Discussion is being led by a fellow who enjoys being a Dad but is very much still learning what the job entails.
Hopefully we can have some laughs along the way. If we don't, it's your fault.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Anatomy of Three Hours with Baby
Mrs. Blackwell had to leave the homestead last night which left Master Blackwell and I alone for three hours together.
If there is anything I've learned in 14 months of being a dad it's that three hours spent looking after a child can evaporate like a drop of water. You blink your eyes and it's over and — perhaps most importantly — you have no idea what you did with that time.
You might remember feeding the baby. Perhaps you changed a diaper, then you played with the little one for a while. Then you played some more. Then it seemed like the baby had enough playing with you so you stepped back and turned on the TV so you could both enjoy some alone time, albeit within ten feet of each other.
Then the baby wasn't enjoying the alone time much so you returned to playing together. Then you again needed to change a diaper — really, really needed to change a diaper as it turns out — so Family Guy or Cash Cab would have to wait.
Before you know it — Poof! three hours are gone.
Being well familiar with this scenario, I sought in advance to document with photos exactly how this time was expended.
So, here goes.
First, we ate. But, given the first picture in the last blog post, you can get an idea of what that looks like.
Next up was play time. Our first game was "chicken" in which we charge at each other as fast as we can crawl before he lodges his head between my knees and attempts what can only be described as the "downward dog" yoga move. From there we just turn this into a somersault because, frankly, I don't know what else to do with it.
easily turns into this.
After yoga we play with our rattle ball. Which is a pretty chill affair. There's lots of cute noises and drool.
Since we're winding down, we do a little reading or — as stark proof we aren't winding down — we use the book as a tool to help us slide around the floors with the greatest of ease. Whichever sounds best at that moment.
Then as if to drive home the whole "I'm not tired" fact, he starts to play a little peekaboo. The game usually starts the moment I've fooled myself into thinking it's safe to sit down on the couch.
Next he decides to join dad on the couch but, not to settle down but instead to spread his particular brand of crazy and, once again, remind me that even though 8 pm is closing in he has no intention of going to sleep anytime soon.
Then he starts to dance — because let's face it, if you're not moved enough by commercial jingles to shake your arms whilst rotating in circles on your knees, you're not truly alive. He then closes off the dance with an accomplished raising of both arms, like he's just crossed the finish line of the Ironman. Finally Mom comes home. And while it can't be possible, it's indeed true that three hours have past. As proof, I am tired. The boy, unfortunately, is not quite there yet.