The good thing about living in a country where I do not speak the language is that I can't seek gainful employment, even if I wanted to (which I don't, but that's another matter altogether).
The bad thing about it is that someone in the household has to go to the coalface. We cannot live on thin air. So, for us, this means that the good Dr M is back at work (albeit part time), three months after the arrival of the first born.
This isn't a bad thing in itself. Unreconstructed neanderthal chauvinist that I am, I am quite comfortable allowing the wife to go to work whilst I laze at home. The problem is that I don't laze at home. I look after the First Born instead. Alone. Scary, no?
But it can't be avoided. She works, so that we may eat etc.
I have looked after him alone before now, but only for short periods of time. Previously, the main logistical difficulty is that Dr M breastfeeds, which I cannot quite do (no sniggers at the back. No fault of mine that I have manboobs. And that's another thing: why doesn't anyone talk about how difficult it is for men to shake the post-pregnancy pounds? Bloody conspiracy, if you ask me.) But now, courtesy of a contraption that would do Torquemada proud, she is able to express milk for later use.
Anyway, our first date was a week ago. I think I am sufficiently recovered now to talk about it. This is how it went:
9.30 - Dr M has checked us both one last time. We are both dressed, fed and not playing with matches. We shoo her out of the door, and settle down in front of the television to watch the news. He is quiet. Is this what she had to do every day? This parenting lark is easy.
9.45 - The First Born demands entertainment. I change channels, and find a replay of the previous night's derby between Real Madrid and Barcelona. We both watch intently, gesticulate rudely at the screen, shout, dribble down our chins. I wonder what country he'll play for? He has four to pick from. That said, if he plays cricket, that narrows the choice down slightly. No-one in their right mind would want to play cricket for England.
10.00 - He tires of the football. I place him gently in his cot, cover him up to his armpits, as I have seen his mother do. He looks content. I amuse myself by reading the newspaper. There really isn't anything to this. I could become a professional stay-at-home dad...
10.02 - He isn't amused, however. H kicks off the covers, and starts on the cot railings. Reluctantly, I put down the newspaper and play with him. After a while, his attention is caught by a fascinating piece of fluff, and he ignores me. Gratefully, I slink back to the newspaper.
10.30 - The First Born has fallen asleep. I resist the urge to stretch out in front of the television and read the newspapers at the same time, and go to do the washing up. I promise myself that I will loaf for at least half an hour, or until TFB wakes up after I have done the dishes.
11.00 - Wash the last plate. Stretch, yawn, settle on sofa. Pick up newspaper. I hear a cry from the bedroom. F@%!
11.01 - It wasn't a cry. It was a scream. TFB has woken himself up, hungry. I congratulate myself. I have already taken a bag of Dr M's good stuff out of the the fridge, and I have boiled the kettle to warm it. I put the bag of milk in a cup of warm water. Trick TFB by snuggling him up to my manboobs and sticking his dummy in his mouth.
11.10 - Try to put bag of milk in bottle. It won't fit. WTF??? This worked a dozen times in practice! Why won't it work??? Screaming starts again. I am sure he can see the panic in my eyes. I almost knock over bag of milk.
11.20 - I finally succeed. Silence. I stop screaming. TFB looks warily at me, a new respect in his eyes.
11.45 - He finally stops feeding and lets rip a belch that I would be proud of. A true son of his father. I place him in crib. He smiles up at me beatifically, the little fraud. I wonder whether it is too early for a drink. Or two.
12.05 - TFB is bored again. We have a funny sounds competition. I declare myself winner, with a perfectly synchronised raspberry and fart serenade. TFB looks suitably impressed.
12.10 - Monologue by self. Doubt, fear, the wish to shirk responsibility by doing a runner. How on earth do parents cope? The First Born sits and listens in solemn silence.
12.30 - I put him in his sling, and potter about the house. He falls asleep. Praise be!
12.50 - I pluck up enough courage to take him ut of sling and put him in bed. Almost wake him up. I feel slightly giddy with fear, then recover - so what if he wakes up? I've sort of managed so far...
13.20 - I finish my newspaper, including the SuDoku challenge. He is still asleep. I do sit ups and press ups. Clearly, I have taken leave of my senses...
13.40 - Hollering from the bedroom. He is awake, and clearly hungry. I feed him again. Things go better this time.
13.50 - Mother-in-Law telephones to make sure I haven't exchanged her grandchild for a ham and mustard sandwich. Sensible move, that. I have been tempted...
14.00 - We are having fun. He actually smiles at me, unbidden. The tiredness melts away. Perhaps I am not so much a failure at this after all.
14.30 - Dr M telephones. Her day went well, and she hopes to leave work soon.
14.50 - He has fallen asleep! By himself!! I slump in front of the television, exhausted. I suddenly appreciate the charm of daytime television - after a day like that, anything would be intellectually stimulating, up to and including the commercials.
15.00 - Dr M calls. She is on her way home.
So that was it. I didn't burn the house down, sell my child into slavery or become King Herod (pathological distrust of the first born etc. It's all in the New Testament)
So I guess we have a date, the First Born and I; same time, same place, next week.
Maybe I'll even tell you about it.
The First Born is three months old. And I am going to bed.
G'night
Our little ones will be 5 months old soon... I can't believe how time flies.
I check in on your blog just about everyday to see what's going on over there with you little one... hoping to read a little bit about what he's doing and also to help me not over look things that my little one is d oing... well, i know that you're busy, but just wanted to let you know that i'm sure there are a cew of us that are curious as to how things are going.
Alicia
Posted by: alicia r | May 08, 2007 at 01:41 PM