Prior to Dominic’s arrival Marina and I had not given much thought to the ebbing and flowing of time. Like everything, depending on our situation, its passage was relative. Some days, life’s hectic pace ensured that we were caught it’s tumultuous whirlpools and barely had any time to breathe and on others it crept by slow enough that we could be excused for thinking it had stopped.
These days, our concept of time has been completely transformed; it is neither stagnant nor fast paced but a vomitory of seconds, minutes and, if we are lucky, hours. Dominic’s arrival has turned Marina and me into characters in our very own “Choose Your Adventure” novel and no prizes for guessing who is turning the pages. Subsequently, any planning, whether it’s when to have dinner, watch TV, read or even shop has gone from structured to ad hoc resulting in two days that are never alike.
Some are peaceful, were Dominic feeds and sleeps like he should. Others, and these are certainly more common, drop us right into our very own tour of duty complete with poo explosions, ambushes of spit up, barrages of crying and minefields of whining.
Admittedly, we would not have it any other way, because since Dominic entered our lives, our attitude on life has taken on a healthy rosy tinge. And why wouldn’t it? Our bloodshot, sleep depraved eyes, make sure of that.
Since his birth, Dominic has always loved 3 AM. Like “A Tribe Called Quest” marauds for ears (ours especially) with his dulcet shrills at that time with the exuberance of a gazelle bounding across the African Savannah.
To be honest before Dominic, Marina and I had forgotten 3AM even existed. The last time we experienced that time of night was back in the days of yore when we were lured by the siren song of Sydney’s numerous clubs. It was not uncommon for us and our relevant posse’s to search for some pre-breakfast nosh after blazing up a storm on the dance floor.
Without fail, Marina and her girls gravitated to Pancakes on the Rocks. I, on the other hand, with my hard core bunch of nerds (I have no delusions of grandeur about who my posse was) would prowl the grimy footpaths for a good kebab. And as everyone will attest, at that time of the morning, every kebab is a good kebab.
These days, the dancing has returned! However the choice of music is neither a house anthem nor a crunk-a-delic beat fused with elements of hip-hop and soul, but the syrupy crooning of nursery rhymes that involve cows, adventurous cutlery, excited sheep, a line dancing monkey and a confused, yet jolly, unicorn. Regardless of the song or dance steps, our aim remains unchanged – get Dominic back to sleep.
This is especially challenging when he decides to turn his room into an anechoic chamber so he can test his lung’s high frequencies on his parent’s ear drums. That is why, the next time you see Marina and me, we will be sporting hearing aids.
In addition to his “Lungs of Steel” he has tendencies to channel the Batman villain “The Clock King.” Dominic’s timing is honed to the second, thereby having the ability to put the kibosh on any activity with supersonic speed and efficiency without even trying. For one, my non-hectic coffee has shifted up to high gear, leaving me with no option to drink my coffee like a pelican – in one gulp. My lament is nothing compared to Marina’s, who endures the full brunt of his chronological manipulation.
Lunch, to paraphrase Marina’s description, is akin to drinking a yard glass. It is done swiftly and in one breath. Additionally, she has no idea what she has swallowed – trust me, that is the correct adjective, because “eaten” would have implied she has actually tasted what was on her plate – until at least two hours later.
Showering too, Marina tells me, has become an Olympic sport – time is of the essence and every second counts. The challenge for Marina is based on three simple factors:
1. Place Dominic in bed, asleep.
2. Scurry to the shower
3. Have shower before he wakes up
These may appear simplistic, but like any ant colony, the deeper you burrow the more inherently complex it becomes. Take number one for instance. Yes, I have spoken about the nursery rhymes, but during the day more is required than moon jumping cows. I don’t mean a nip of brandy either (though sometimes we feel that would not go astray).
What I am talking about is…well, that’s the hard part you see, because every day Dominic prefers something else to quell his excitement and send him off with the sandman. For example there are some days when he likes hip hop (Jay-Z anyone?) and on others he prefers the twang of indie Guitar (Aqualung is a favourite of his). Then there his love of deep electronica when he prefers club-land to dreamland, and let’s not get into his penchant for chillout music. Of course there are various dance styles that accompany the music, like the “Please go to sleep Dominic” shuffle, or the quite common “Look at how comfortable your bed is Dom” sidestep. Let’s not forget the “Its time to close your eyes and let your Mum rest” Rhumba and the ever popular “Sleeptime Salsa!”
If none these have worked, Marina still has a few more tricks up her sleeve. One is tummy time, and she often uses this to help Dominic burn off his excess energy. If he is still wriggling with fervent vigour, she tries to soothe him with a relaxing baby massage and if this doesn’t work she pulls out a few choice stories from our collection of fairy tales. I should note by this stage, Marina is exhausted and longing for a nap; pity Dominic does not share her tiredness. If none of these techniques have worked, praying and pleading is always helpful. If all else fails, Marina pulls out the big guns in her quest to get Dominic to sleep and get a moments peace – a fireworks display, a laser show and a pink dancing elephant.
Once step one has been conquered, Marina does a victory dance and moves hastily onto step 2 and 3.
From what I understand step three is never a “leisurely-wash-troubles-of-the-world-away” type of shower, but a lesson in efficiency. As she describes it, with one ear listening for his cry and one hand holding the soap, she lathers, rinses, conditions and shampoos (the correct order is the least of her worries). This is all before the water heats up. If you’re wondering, her current record is eighty five seconds.
I will be the first to admit that compared to what Marina undergoes daily, my whinge is a flea on a dogs behind, but it still results in some interesting consequences. My issue is not about time management but understanding the intricacies of baby clothing.
Up until this point, I never realised how complicated baby suits can be. Sure, I knew they are be colourful and covered in so many fluffy felt animals, dryers everywhere cower in fear behind their lint traps, but what I never realised is the amount of buttons these suits have. I have found in numerous cases to do the suit up properly involves more than simply taking a button from one side to the corresponding button hole on the other but the ability to understand angles, loops, calculus equations and the dexterity to solve Rubik’s cube where the coloured tiles are in constant motion.
Marina, a master of puzzle of solving, is not fazed and can dress Dominic within thirty seconds. Not me, who usually ends up with placing Dominic’s arm through his pants, his singlet over his face and wearing his nappy on my head. This leaves Marina with no choice but to come to the rescue and say few prayers to give her the strength and patience to deal with her confused husband. This is all before she realises how I have put the nappy on – usually sideways and backwards.
I knew I should have taken notes in our hospital room.
Shortly after Dominic was born, four hours to be exact, the three of us were taken from the birth centre to our room in the maternity ward and left alone with him. The moment was surreal. Watching him sleep in his bassinet, Marina and I felt that we had reached an event horizon and time had stopped.
We could not believe that there was a baby in our lives; that Dominic was ours. We were no longer a couple, but a family. At that point in time, Marina and I were not thinking about the past or future, we had our feet firmly planted in the now. No amount of advice, books or even mental preparation could have prepared us for the geyser of joy we felt.
I, like a typical Taurean in a china shop, dampened the emotion with practicality and posed the question: “Babe, do you know how to change a nappy?”
Marina didn’t. We alerted the midwife and she promptly showed us how. Marina studied her every movement with the scrutiny of a crime scene investigator. I tried to do the same, but whereas Marina absorbed the information like a nappy, I sucked it up like a dull piece of granite, hence the reason when I am changing Dominic, his forehead furrows in concern and he searches for the coordinated hands of his mother.
This does not mean I am going to give up, because I am determined to get it right, but at the rate at which Dominic is growing, I’d better be quick. Since his birth, Marina and I have been so caught up in the seconds, minutes and hours we paid no heed to the day and months, and in what seems to us like a blink of an eye, Dominic, who was once no longer than our forearm, is now five months old and on the verge of sitting up, not to mention rolling over.
That’s where time, whose continuous march forward, can be so cruel, because if you don’t enjoy the present it very quickly became the past and moments are lost forever.
Even the simple act of going to work fills me with a certain amount of angst, because I always think I am going to get a call from Marina telling me he has rolled over, sat up, started crawling, said his first word or even started to play Batman.
But who are we to stop time’s traverse?
So, instead of getting caught up in what might be, even though the journey ahead will we fast paced, exciting and will no doubt have its fair share of frustration, and pining for what has been, it’s best to enjoy the present and know that we are in for some of the best times of our lives.
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