I’ll be the first to admit, I was not excited about spending the weekend alone with Philyodaddy Jr. Not because I don’t love my son, but more because I’m scared to death of being fully responsible for him. To say Mrs. Philyodaddy does everything important is really the understatement of the centsh. I generally do work on the periphery. I do stuff that is necessary, but not the worst. You know, the stuff like pushing the stroller, changing, putting shoes on, etc. Definitely not doing the unheralded tasks like cleaning things or organizing the baby clothes . No way, no how. I’m allergic to a little elbow grease. In honor of the F8 release this weekend, here’s a great analogy: Mrs. Philyodaddy is like the engine of the car, I’m like the spoiler. She’s the most important part of making the car work, and I’m the unnecessary appendage that keeps Suburu WRX’s from taking off in flight.
So when Mrs. Philyodaddy planned her first big weekend away with the gals, I was a bit horrified. Here she was going to sunny Montreal (in March), gallivanting around local eateries and spas, and I was going to be attempting solo child care. Hasn’t been a more inequitable trade since our ancestors robbed the locals of Manhattan for $24 in trinkets.
To be fair I had left her home alone for several weekends prior to this, but she’s much better at this than me. She has the mom gene.
Here is a play-by-play recollection of my weekend home alone with my 10 month old:
(events occur in real time)
5:20p – Leave work as late as possible to maximize nanny time/minimize parenting time. Pretty sure this already makes me look like a bad parent. Don’t judge me.
6:00p – Arrive home, make small talk with nanny.
6:05p – Give Philyodaddy Jr. a “don’t fuck with me this weekend” look. Additionally, Put Jersey Shore on TV1 so he has some role models to aspire to.
6:09p (nice) – text Mrs. P that we miss her and I’m sorry for not putting the seat down. Please come home. No response. She’s definitely not coming back.
6:15p – bring the boy to the liquor store so he can learn about the essentials. Handy rhyme for learning the alphabet: Beer before liquor, never been sicker.
6:30-7:15p – follow child around apartment hoping he gets real tired. Do I really need to read this stupid Pete the Cat book 4 times in a row? The lyrics are so stale and predictable. This guy makes Fred Durst look like Bob Dylan.
7:15p – Bedtime, we made it.
8:00-10:00p – Drink a good amount of wine, but not enough to cause a hangover because that would be horrible tomorrow. I paired a 2011 Chateauneuf du Pape with the finest chicken wings Hoboken had to offer. Who ever said don’t serve southern Rhone with buffalo sauce? Morons.
10:15p – Go to bed early. Dream of retirement. Only 30 more years to go.
6:30a – Okay I guess we have it easy that this is an “early” wakeup for Philyodaddy Jr. Kid is a pretty good sleeper, so I can’t really complain about that. And I love complaining. But would it have killed him to sleep to 7 for me? Let him stomp around his crib for 15-20 minutes contemplating his next move.
Okay we can do this, just gotta get to 9:30ish nap. That’s how you think when you have baby or toddler. How many hours til nap or bed? Just gotta grind it out. I don’t think about the future, just make grandiose plans for the next nap. Will I compose a symphony or will I calculate some Nash equilibrium? JK of course I’ll sit on the couch and watch TV or play video games and then wonder where all my free time went.
7:00a – First bottle of the day. Pound that formula. You’re only 95th percentile in weight, you need it! How are you going to be the first member of the Philyodaddy clan to play in the NBA if you can’t even handle 7 oz of the good stuff in the morning?
7:15-8:30a Watch DVR’ed Pac12 tournament game from the night before while playing with child. Arizona/UCLA started after 10:00 at night. That’s criminal. I couldn’t have stayed up that late before I was an old washed father. Now there’s a better chance of me parting the Red Sea. Generally we don’t let the boy watch TV1,2, or 3, but these are extenuating circumstances.
8:30a – Time for regular food. P Jr. only has 2 teeth, so it takes him approximately 30 minutes to eat. He also refuses to eat sitting in his $300 highchair so this is the worst part of the day. Only have to do it 3 times. Each time is less fun than the last.
9:40a Nap #1 – we made it. The boy is still on two naps a day, which is nice I guess. I hear its fairly devastating when it goes down to 1. Whatever, at least he’ll have more than 2 teeth by then.
10:20a- Woke up, you little fucker. you sleep almost two hours when mommy is here, what the fuck was that?
10:22a – Contemplate leaving him in there standing and crying
10:24a – Realize that Mrs. P can watch the Nest camera playback and I don’t want to get yelled at. Google gets $10/month, I get big sister watching my parenting moves. Seems like a fair trade.
10:25-10:30a – I put all the lights on and throw a bunch of toys in his crib while trying to shower. I’m a clean man despite what my haters say. Minimal crying says this effort is a success. I do not feel refreshed. I don’t think I’ll ever feel refreshed again.
12:00p – Drive to friend Pete’s house. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. “Pete” has two children, similar in age, so I figured this would be a good time killing exercise. This was my only good idea of the weekend. After the mess Philyodaddy Jr. made, I’m not sure we’ll be invited back, but it was worth it.
2:00p – Nap time for “Pete”‘s two children and my 1 child. We throw him in the bathroom in a pack n play. Philyodaddy Jr. cries for 20 minutes ruining the nap for all 3 children.
2:45p – After 20 minutes of screaming and 25 minutes of sleeping, we’re back at it. You suck.
4:00p – The two other children wake up. I ask, “Why can’t you be more like them?” Gives innocent-looking face back that will definitely get him out of the first 4 times I catch him drinking in high school (or I guess middle school at the rate we are going).
5:00-7:15p – Home, feed, facetime mommy. Mommy has a glow to her. That makes one of us. Sunny Montreal must be treating her well. I beg her to come home early. She pretends she’s losing cell phone service.
7:15p – Bedtime – time to chug two bottles of wine. The first was definitely a Pinot Noir from the Sta. Rita hills appellation near Santa Barbara. The second might as well been 2-buck chuck for all I care. I used to pound jugs of Carlo Rossi when I was in college. At some point, we all come back to our roots.
8-10p – None of your business.
8a – Thanks for letting me sleep in!
6:15a – WAAHHHH WAHHHHH Wake up daddy. Think Positive thoughts. Just gotta make it til 2. Mommy gets home at 2.
10:30a – Mommy’s flight is delayed. WHAT THE FUCK. Is this stupid Canadian airline trying to fuck me? Only Mrs. P. is allowed to do that. Fuck Sunny Montreal, fuck airplanes, fuck everything. (Fuck y’all if you doubt me) How could you do this to me, Porzingis?
10:30a-5:00p – Honestly blacked out during this period like Will Ferrell in Old School. I think I did a good job while constantly counting down til Mommy will be home.
5:00 – Finally, she’s home.
5:00-10:00 – sit on couch and refuse to do anything.