Reality

My wife is in New York City. She went to visit a friend. I thought that it would be nice to let her get away from our baby for a weekend. I thought it would be nice to get some bonding time with Josie for once . I am afraid this has not been the reality.

It has been really hard on me. Reality is hard sometimes. Reality is hard to admit, hard to face, and hard to experience, and today reminded me that reality sometimes is harsh and painful. The pain, for me, today, was a dull rumble. On a scale of 1 to 10 my pain was around 2, all things considered. But, now I realize why women are quite honestly more competent when it comes to detail work.

Today, I had to be with her from 12 in the afternoon until 7 at night, without one break. If I am at home, I can go to the office, or get Anna to look after her. But not today. It was hard. I had to think of things to do, ways to keep her occupied, places to explore and visit. Since I was not in my own house, the house was not baby-proofed. At moments I thought, "How do women do this all the time?" I really thought this many times. Josie loves sticking her hands in the toilet. She loves climbing the stairs. She loves placing rocks in her mouth. While they sound cute, in reality, they could be the sight of lots of problems. So, I, as her only parents today, kept a close eye on her and kept her from making too many errors. I wanted to keep her safe.

At one moment I carried her on one arm, cleared the table, wiped off the sponge like cheese caked on the table, emptied the dishwasher, tended to the cat, and feed myself lunch. I felt like I had to speed-eat my lunch just in order to keep my one eye on her. After I fed her, then I had to make sure she did not walk up the straircase alone, or eat something on the floor that is too small for her, or pet the cat with too much gusto and then be scratched by the cat. I felt like screaming at one time. But then again, who would I be screaming at? That was the problem. I was so alone in the house that I had nothing but my own petty mind to play with.

At one point a lady came over to clean the windows and paint the threshhold of the door. It was a matter of grace to simply have another person in the house. A warm body is my best friend. And once she left, I felt myself becoming more annal by the minute. I found my mind obsessing about keeping things manageable. I was keeping close tabs on the time. But then, when I could not find a clock in the house, I got very mad, simply because I did not have the time. Small inconveniences became large wedges between me and any type of normality. I found myself obsessed with getting her into bed, getting her into the bath, and getting her dressed and ready to put down.

Of course, all of this is making it sound much worse than it was. I, in fact, told her a wonderful story about a rat and a mongoose, a story that I created on the spot. There were moments where the sun broke through the clouds.

How do women do it? I found myself unable to pray, unable to be inspired, and unable to think of anyone else but me. That, my friends, may have been the unhealthiest thing about the whole deal.