It's All About Looking Good

Denise is singing in the church band this morning, and as much fun as it would be to play the role of "guy alone in church with a screaming baby," Jackson and I have elected to stay home this morning. We're listening to Glenn Miller, eating our bananas, and watching it snow.

When I'm home alone with Jackson, there are these rare moments when Jackson is changed, fed, not too sleepy, doesn't have gas, and everything is smooth sailing. These moments are relatively rare and generally short-lived. I find myself trying to time these moments so that we're right in the middle of one when Denise walks in the door.

I think to myself, sure, Jackson is screaming right now because he's hungry. And I could feed him right now and make him stop. But Denise will be home in 30 minutes, and if I wait 15 minutes to feed Jackson, we'll be right in the middle of full-belly happy-time when Denise gets home. I don't do this so that Denise will come home to a peaceful house. It's so that when Denise comes home, Jackson will be sitting happily in his swing, and I'll be relaxing in the rocking chair by the fire, sipping a cup of coffee.

"Oh, hello dearest," I'll say, "I didn't even hear you come in. I was so involved in this article in The Economist. How was Jackson, you ask? Oh, just a delight..."

If I'm going to pull off this con, it's important that I hide all the evidence of the disaster that actually occurred in Denise's absence. The mashed-up bananas must be swept under the rug or given to Beans. The banana-puke covered bibs must be shoved under Jackson's bed. Of course, I could actually clean the kitchen and do the laundry, but then Denise might walk in during the process and the jig would be up. If you're going to pull off the illusion of perfect, effortless parenting, any actual parenting is out of the question.

Someday Jackson will recount all of this to his therapist. His various neuroses will all trace back to the fact that I determined his feeding schedule based on how good it would make me look in front of his mother. Fortunately, I will be drooling in a nursing home by then, and Jackson can time my feeding based on how good it makes him look in front of the nurses. These things have a way of working out in the end.

It's the circle of life.