Tales from the Academic Husband
So, I talk about the Academic Husband a lot, and how he's a freaking saint. Some of you who haven't known me as long might think that I am exaggerating. I am not. This is the guy who has probably changed more diapers than I have in our time with the twins, who does the lion's share of the cooking and cleaning, and is better at taking both babies out in the wide, wide world than I am. If we're talking traditional roles, he's the "mom" and I'm the "dad", except that we both work outside the home, and I make less than he does.
He also usually gets up earlier than I do (by usually, I mean always), and on the weekends, he snags the kids and lets me sleep in. Because he is, as aforementioned, a freakin' saint. And after this particular story, which he typed and posted to one of his message boards and then emailed to me, I think he deserves a medal.
After staying up too late watching "Inception" and then reading some critical responses to it (the positive discursive "critical," not the usual), I woke up to twin tears. As usual. I walk into the nursery and think that someone's had a diaper that smells like vomit. Only there's a huge cascade of vomit onto the mattress, the crib frame, the rug, and the lino from my very sad-faced son.
Trying to calm him and get him out of his mucky sleeper so that he'll settle down, I think to myself looking in "How did he manage to vomit inside his sleeper?" and then realize that he's had a blowout - an inch or two up and down from either end of the diaper on all sides. And with some down in the sleeper feet.
Off to the tub after a wiping down and a change. It seems to just be a minor bug as he's settled down... but then I had to go clean the room. Picking up vomit. Washing and brushing the rug. Cleaning the crib... and finding that I can't access some of the chunder since it's wedged between the headboard and the sides. So I have to loosen the headboard (fully off on that side, and loose for flexibility on the other) to be able to clean it up.
I've somehow just finished breakfast after a coffee to settle my stomach. I wish I had an emergency stash of Cointreau on hand to make it more medicinal, but I didn't think that far ahead.
I think I deserve some playoff football after that one.
He also usually gets up earlier than I do (by usually, I mean always), and on the weekends, he snags the kids and lets me sleep in. Because he is, as aforementioned, a freakin' saint. And after this particular story, which he typed and posted to one of his message boards and then emailed to me, I think he deserves a medal.
After staying up too late watching "Inception" and then reading some critical responses to it (the positive discursive "critical," not the usual), I woke up to twin tears. As usual. I walk into the nursery and think that someone's had a diaper that smells like vomit. Only there's a huge cascade of vomit onto the mattress, the crib frame, the rug, and the lino from my very sad-faced son.
Trying to calm him and get him out of his mucky sleeper so that he'll settle down, I think to myself looking in "How did he manage to vomit inside his sleeper?" and then realize that he's had a blowout - an inch or two up and down from either end of the diaper on all sides. And with some down in the sleeper feet.
Off to the tub after a wiping down and a change. It seems to just be a minor bug as he's settled down... but then I had to go clean the room. Picking up vomit. Washing and brushing the rug. Cleaning the crib... and finding that I can't access some of the chunder since it's wedged between the headboard and the sides. So I have to loosen the headboard (fully off on that side, and loose for flexibility on the other) to be able to clean it up.
I've somehow just finished breakfast after a coffee to settle my stomach. I wish I had an emergency stash of Cointreau on hand to make it more medicinal, but I didn't think that far ahead.
I think I deserve some playoff football after that one.