Away in a Brick House,
With dislike for Cribs and Beds…
The Little Lord Harrison
Lay down his (sometimes) sweet head
The stars were in daddy’s eyes
On the TV he did fixate
While the Little Lord Harrison
Asleep on the cold living room tiles he lay
They say a picture paints a thousand words – so what then, to make of this scene that greeted me at 8.30pm last Thursday night when I returned, supremely supple and Zen from my Yoga class.
Yes, that is my 2 and a half-year-old son fast asleep on the cold tiles of our living room floor. Yes, The Husband had been left in charge. And yes, he swears, from less than fifteen feet away, in the seclusion of the lounge room, he did not hear nor suspect a thing!
Regular NappyDaze readers will know we’ve been waging a war on the sleep front for a while now. So for the briefest second the thought flashed through my mind “huh, perhaps this is where he is happiest to rest. There was obviously no long strung stalemate of screams or tears to get him to this state of sleep”. But then I spun on my heel, and returned to the blissfully oblivious husband, deeply engrossed in the TV.
“Excuse me Father of The Year, can you come with me?” Startled, he sprung from his seat, obliging immediately; obviously curious as to what his oversight could have been. As far as he was aware, it had been a drama free night of not having to constantly chase his wayward son back into bed numerous times, nor put up with his wails of indignation. And he got to catch up on some mindless TV. He’d have coined it as a successful evening all round.
Needless to say he then was as shocked as me as to see this sight, and swears black blue and beyond that the last he knew he’s safely tucked the little monster into bed. I’d tally that one up to you Harrison, Daddy NIL!
For the record, I should state, other than this funny little blip, the Husband does has rather an impeccable record when it comes to going it solo with the son. He’ll often offer up servings of sanity after a long week and shoo me out the door for a few hours of “me time” and I can be secure in the knowledge that, much like a pot plant, he’ll remember to feed and water him adequately.
And we never, EVER refer to it as the Husband “babysitting”. Because for me, one of the larges pet peeve’s I could possibly ever have is the notion that some Dad’s out there refer to the task of looking after their own children as just that.
In male orientated conversations the world over you are all but guaranteed to hear the proclamations of such little gems as “The wife’s out for her annual girls dinner tonight so I am babysitting”. HELLO – does anyone EVER hear a mother call it that? “Oh, I am just going to quit my job when I have a baby so I can return to my 14 year old lifestyle and take up child minding duties.” Except this time there is no one paying you $10 an hour and giving you a lift home at midnight.
All venting aside, I can be assured that the Husband, while he now has this infamous strike against him, will not have his father and son bonding duties revoked anytime soon. Because I am sure crafty Master H will no doubt have some similar suspect act stored up his sleeve for when I least expect it and we’ll both be vying for the Parent of The Year mantle then!