Three Peas in a Pod

Too dramatic a title for this post, I know. But there was a moment, however brief, when I saw my wife through the front window of our townhouse, her hair tied in a neat pony tail, Puma duffel bag slung over her shoulder as she walked her frail nerves to the bus stop at the end of the street, where I thought oh shit, what have I got myself into?

Funny how that brief thought seemed to coincide with a particular look my daughter gave me, that’s right, you’re my bitch now. I’ll have to reprimand her in a few years for using profanity at such a young age. Eleven-months-old and cussing already. The year is done. Mommy returns to work. Simone is left in the hands of Papa. Both of them lefties.

So, day one consists of the following:

• Wake up at 6:30 am.
• Feed Simone
• Feed myself
• Sit on the floor and watch Simone drool torrents of saliva on a variety of plastic toys.
• Double check to make sure it’s her saliva and not mine (monkey see, monkey do).
• 8:30 nap for Simone
• Papa logs onto Facebook and wastes more time than he should have.
• 10:00 Simone wakes up
• Snack time – slices of mango, prunes, cold corn and beans, yogurt, raisin toast.
• Extensive cleaning of baby limbs and face, high-chair tray, floor, table, my own face and hands.
• Remind myself to give Simone a bib next time.
• Excursion: we go for a walk in the stroller to the YMCA. Register for child-minding.
• Return home for lunch.
• More excessive cleaning.
• 1:00 nap for Simone.
• 1:35 nap for Papa
• 3:00 wake-up and snack (another ramshackle combination of items)
• Go pick up Mommy/Wifey from Sky-Train

A friend of mine has at least four kids of her own (I stopped counting at four, anyways). She said I need to be proactive, plan ahead–don’t leave things to the last moment. Perish the thought. Plan ahead? Who does that? Honestly…

Is blogging as bad as Facebook?