Bad dad

Declan and I had a great time in the pool last night.  I've been in the habit of leaving work just a smidge early on Tuesday afternoons in order to grab my son and get to the pool in good time.  We then have about ten minutes to splash around in the whirlpool before our half-hour class at 6 PM.

On these evenings, I take my wife's car to the pool (since it has the baby seat) and I leave my truck keys behind in case she needs or wants to go out for any reason.  Yesterday, she had plans to meet a girlfriend for coffee while we were at the pool.  I took Amy's spare set of car keys since they were most conveniently located at the door.  (I'm always rushing on Tuesday evenings to get home from work, get changed, change the boy, grab the bag, kiss my wife and head to the pool.  I was not thinking that Amy's spare set of car keys did not have a house key...)

Upon arriving home from the pool I came to the realization inferred above and quickly consoled myself with the knowledge that my darling wife had, just in the past week, secured the placement of a recondite key in the backyard.  I placed my boy on the front step and walked around the fence, confident in soon having ingress to my abode.  It wasn't there.

With an unpleasant sense of foreboding, I slowly turned my head to the right and glanced through the open curtains of the kitchen window to gaze upon the table therein.  Tauntingly, the spare key lay glinting at me, less than two metres from my grasp.  Peering through the fence slats, I reassured myself that my son was content with his bottle and staring intently at his flexing fingers.  Some tampering with that same cursed window soon had two panes removed, but the inner, locking, panes would not yield.  As frustrating as it was, a part of me was reassured by that.

It was just past 7 PM, we were locked out of our own house, a phone call to the neighbours went unanswered (where Amy babysits and conveniently has diapers and baby food stashed), I had no idea when my wife was coming home, Declan's fingers were getting cold (thankfully a mild evening) and it was dinner time.

Back into the car and a quick stop at the gas station to fuel up and grab a Coffee Crisp for Dad.  Across the street to the Save On Foods to buy some dinner for Declan.  I deposited my son in the hand-held basket and proceeded to the baby aisle.  Some food, spoons and juice for his now-empty bottle had us back in the car: him in his car seat and me administering chicken stew from the bottle, attracting strange glances from the woman sitting in the truck beside us.  (Another first last night; I have never before been eligible to park in the 'Parents with Children' stalls that are second in quality only to the handicapped spaces.  I reveled in that small victory.)

After finishing off with his blueberry-banana dessert and refilling his juice bottle, I was left regretting not having purchased any tissues with which to clean my son, now slightly soiled with his dinner.  Some rummaging around the front of the car yielded nothing but one (I will assume, for the sake of my conscience, clean) Swiffer cloth.  Not only does it pick up dirt, dust, hair and food particles from your kitchen floor, it does a bang-up job on baby's faces and hands.

With dinner over, the neighbours away and no idea when my wife would return, I gave Granny a call.  She was meeting with her quilters but had no problem with showing off her grandson when the opportunity presented itself.  Plus Declan (not to mention his dad) got some Arrowroot cookies out of the deal while we sat downstairs and watched Discovery Channel with my step-dad.

A phone call from my wife a couple hours later alerted us to the newly opened house and we returned without further incident.  Amy was briefly panic-stricken at arriving home at 9.30 PM with no son or husband in sight but was calmed by the phone message I had left.  All was well.

The boy decided to get his retribution for the disturbance to his routine by waking up just after 4 AM today.  My darling wife made the first salvo into his room and tagged me in fifteen minutes later when she met with minimal success.  He was perfectly content until being placed back in his crib.  So, with a wistful glance at my gym bag placed strategically by the front door, we nestled ourselves on the sofa, which seemed to placate the infant boy and allowed his dad to doze.

My wife woke me up, thinking I was long departed for the gym and work, with the admonition that it was twenty minutes before 8 AM.  (sigh)  I tagged her in to baby duty, dressed myself, brushed my teeth, glanced briefly at my unshorn face in the mirror, kissed my darling family and leapt into my truck, making it to work just five minutes after the hour.

Now I sit here: unshowered, unshorn, wearing yesterday's deodorant, still smelling very faintly of chlorine underneath the cologne, poorly rested, having had a chocolate bar and a handful of Arrowroots for last night's dinner, three cups of coffee for breakfast (with a fourth after I post this), and not terribly inspired at work this morning.

Current mood: Petulant.

Comments

[Paul]

But it was a good swim! And that makes all the difference.

[Simon]

Yes. Yes it does.