Month 10: Tiny Tot Triathlon

Miles is training for the 10-Month-Old Triathlon. When and where this event will take place, only he knows. Apparently, it’s very competitive. The training regimen is rigorous. It requires several trips up the staircase every day (just up, not down). At intervals, coffee table pull-ups and changing table windmills are performed. Then comes some splashing in the dog bowl or bathtub. Oh, yes, there are water events, too, people. Sometimes equipment is necessary -- say, Jolly Jumper leg work and Exersaucer core strengthening.

Miles is surely among the elite athletes. He can lift a full coffee cup with two fingers, pull a lamp off a dresser several inches above his head, and push over a hall table laden with books, magazines, and, unfortunately, a jar of spare change.

Not sure if an infant should be carbo-loading, I asked our pediatrician about Miles’ prodigious appetite. Is it OK to feed him as much as he wants? “Well, sure, look how active he is,” said Dr. M., gesturing at my son, who was busy shredding the paper covering the exam table and waving the scraps over his head. “He’s probably burned off a few hundred calories in the time we’ve been sitting here!”

As do I, given that I spend my days pulling the Energizer Baby away from the fireplace, down from the stairs, off of tables, and out of the dog bowl. Did I mention he weighs almost 21 lbs. now? By bedtime, I am aching all over from my all-day full-body workout. I’m forced to replenish my strength with large quantities of Famous Amos cookies, cheese, and red wine. (Not always in the same sitting.)

My husband -- who spends his days sitting at a desk and is not “allowed” to go to the gym any more after work for reasons that should be obvious -- has no sympathy for me. That really bugs me. Just once I would like for C. to walk in the door, hand me a bouquet of tulips and offer me a foot massage, all the while murmuring, “You have the toughest job in the world, sweetie. You’re amazing. I can’t even imagine the physical and emotional stamina it must take to get through the day. I sure do appreciate all you’re doing for our family. Let me get you some chocolate.” (Hey, a girl can fantasize, right?)

Instead, I get: “Yeah, I had a tough day, too. Man, I slept bad last night. Why do you keep buying all these cookies? I can’t eat them. I need to get to the gym more.” Hello?! Can we focus, please? We’re talking about ME here!

Granted, C. is a very busy guy. In addition to working 10-hour days, he regularly polls the entire male population on all sorts of issues. No, really. How else could he claim, “I do way more around the house than MOST guys. ALL guys are slobs. NO guys give their wives foot massages every night. I don’t know ANY dads who remember to empty the diaper pail.” I would just love to meet ALL THESE GUYS who are so far inferior to my husband! How great is it that I ended up with the one guy who, according to him, is the best of the bunch?

It’s so convenient living with the Authority on All Guys On Earth, too. Now I don’t have to waste time asking my friends if their husbands leave sweet-potato-encrusted baby spoons glued to the highchair tray. According to C., they do!

Now, because I am a fair and generous person (and because I know my husband will read this), I will acknowledge that he does do a lot. He works long days at a stressful job, then comes home (to neither a hot meal nor a hot wife, since I usually resemble the “Before” picture on those makeover shows) to feed, bathe, and put the baby to bed. And he has to put up with his ungrateful wife broadcasting his shortcomings in her blog. MOST guys would hate that. ;)

TIP O’ THE WEEK: My fellow writer mama Christina Katz has written an appealing, helpful book called, appropriately, Writer Mama: How to Raise a Writing Career Alongside Your Kids. Buy it. Read it. Use it.