This Is The Goo I've Got

Every week I enjoy my Thursdays with Bernard more and more. I suppose this is for two reasons – firstly, because every week I realise more and more that this is something to be enjoyed, something to be appreciated, something that I won’t always have, something that I want to be able to look back on and think “Yes, I made the most of that while I had it.” Secondly, because with every week that passes, I allow the rest of my life to fall apart a little more so that I can restructure it around him.

That’s not entirely true. Karen and I maintain a list of things that need doing around the house, and yesterday I decided that it just wasn’t thorough enough – there were a lot of things still in my head that I hadn’t written down, so I put down everything that I can think of. We also restructured the list, to make it simpler. Instead of having eight or so categories, we now just have four lists: two for Karen, two for me. Each of us has a list of high priority items, and a list of low priority items. Initially I thought that such a simple prioritisation system wouldn’t give us the power that we needed, but looking at the new lists, I’m convinced.

Back to my original train of thought, and the previous paragraph. What I was trying to suggest was that in life, I have room for five basic things:

* Work
* Sleep
* Things that have to be done
* Time for me
* Time for the family

Parenthood has drastically fattened the fifth. Home ownership has drastically fattened the third. So everything else has been forced to slim down, and none more so than the fourth.

Okay, so admittedly tonight I’m going into London to drink to the health of Dr. Sloan ((yes, the site is no longer updated, but I’m linking it anyway because it’s brilliant)). And last night, after everyone else had gone to bed, I watched Big Nothing (decent entertainment, but not what you’d call A Brilliant Film with the capital letters). But these are relatively isolated incidents – for most of the last two weeks, I’ve been finding myself so tired out by 10pm that I’ve had to forego my day’s quota of self-time entirely.

I think that part of the key to being a parent is learning to accept this. The baby depends on you. Your partner depends on you more than ever before. First and foremost, you’ve got to look after these people. And if you’ve got some time left over for yourself at the end of it, then that’s a bonus. And if you’ve also got the energy to do something worthwhile with it, then you’re a luckier man than I.

Returning home after 5 days visiting family, Bernard is reimplanted into his natural environment (ie our living room) and I can at last see how quickly he is developing. Five days ago, if I planted him on the sitting room floor, I was able to coax him into crawling a few paces by constructing a precarious tower of blocks and saying to him “now, don’t demolish that.”

But now, he is flying across the room, cuddling the door (he is strangely fond of doors). A springing noise causes me to raise my head, and I realise that he has figured out how to open my CD box (better find the keys for that). He paws at the glass panel on the (long since childproofed) TV unit, trying to reach the LCD displays behind it. He pulls himself up to a stable kneeling position on the edge of the coffee table, increasing his vertical range by a foot or two. A whole slew of areas just got added to the “to-clear” list. He attempts to manually fillet a small book of Oscar Wilde quotes (which were deliberately placed in his reach for this purpose).

This is all very, very brilliant.