I just glanced over at the calendar. It won’t be long before my wife is back to work and it’s just me and my infant son against the world. My baby boy is strapped to my chest as I write this. His pacifier keeps popping out, so bear with me.
I had a moment recently where things went silent and I told myself I’m in a good place. Good family, good health and a good job. It’s been a few years since I’ve felt that way.
My background is in broadcasting. You know those graphics you see on TV? I used to make those. Then I moved on to radio. You’ve probably heard my annoying voice on the radio before, then I got fired. It’s not a terribly long story: guy gets new job, boss finds out he has depression, she tries to align his chakras, his karma turns sour, he has to fight a rancor to save the princess. I may have made up that last bit.
After a brief moment of panic I was back on my feet, went back to school and have met some great people as I’ve tried to figure out just what I want out of life.
What was I saying? Right, a good place.
Elliott and I about to start our day of work. (Joshua Archer)
I’m not religious or anything, I’m the son of a blind man and a Scientologist, so I don’t know which god to thank for my current station in life. I get the biggest kick out of just this. Entering your head with my words. I hope I can keep this up for a while.
My wife’s maternity leave comes to an end on Oct. 11 and with that my baby boy will have to go to daycare a couple days a week. I’m having trouble the third time around sending my kid to daycare. I love the daycare my kids go to now, but just the thought of being apart from Elliott hurts my heart.
I’m dreading the morning I have to drop Elliott off at daycare for the first time. What if I miss a smile? Or a giggle? I know I’m going to lose it when I pack his bag with breast milk and his stuffed E.T. What is wrong with me?
For the days Elliott is with me and I do have to work, I’m ready. I have my baby bandolier ready, extra pacifiers, a month’s supply of breast milk, enough diapers for a small village of babies and a Spotify playlist complete with Elliott’s favorite tunes from the 80s.
You haven’t lived until you’ve had a baby strapped to your chest while interviewing someone and simultaneously explaining to your editor over Slack why your copy is always late. It gets the blood pumping.
The countdown is on before my wife goes back to work and like I said. I’m ready.
