"The trouble with being a parent is that by the time you are experienced, you are unemployed." ~ Anonymous
Friday, November 16, 2007
Time is on my side, yes it is...
Every once in a blue moon, I have to work late. Today happens to be one of those times. Such days (because of work) are depressing enough, but having so little time with the kid made it worse.
The kid woke up at 6.20am today, right smacked in the middle of me preparing to go to work. Probably spent like 25 minutes with her, clinged to my hips as I went about the house placing things into my work bag.
Worked.
Got back ten minutes past eight. May not be late for many but get this - the kid goes to bed at half past eight. I got to spend 20 minutes with her.
It is now ten past ten and the kid has been asleep for over an hour. I am waiting for tomorrow to spend more time with her.
Today time spent today: 45 minutes. That is less time than I spent in the car, commuting.
Wil read the above article and emailed it to me. I had to control myself from laughing out loud in the office (yes, read it in the office) because I could draw so much parallels between what was described about "strong-willed" children to the kid.
Those who spent more than 60 minutes would agree that she is of character. To pair her with me, you could label us as a "potential nuclear reaction".
She went to bed like she would on any other day, at 8.30pm. It was around 9pm when she started crying. It was painful to hear her cry like she did, partly because she seldom would cry before her sleep, but mostly because she was so damn loud. Like other times, I would wait fifteen minutes before attending to her.
As things would go they way they usually did, just as I got up to attend her, I heard her getting sick in bed. With hasten steps, I found myself face to face with one frantic kid. The events that followed were blurry now, but I do remember dealing with a screaming kid, clearing soiled beddings, changing fresh clothes for her and myself, to be the receiving end of another enormous heave.
The kid brought out her stomach contents three times that night and I watched them changed from partially digested milk, to water, to what looked like gastric juices. But nothing topped her screaming lungs, which sent out wails after wails.
We coaxed and patted, rocked and sang, threaten and smacked, the kid was inconsolable. For that hour, we were hugely defeated by that small person who became the epicenter of our universe. That night, she tested the grounds, expanded her borders significantly and left us confused and powerless in the struggle.
The next night, still shuddering over the defeat, I met Andre and BC for drinks. The two guys who have four kids between them welcomed me to the next level of parenthood. My so called buddies bidded me luck on the quest for a “fluid formula” – the one "fix-it method" for all forms of misbehaving.
Very funny guys, it is probably one of the best oxymoron I heard for awhile. Wil and I voted to get a cane.
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