After a few more fruitless, aimless hours mindlessly staring at my computer screen, I finally decided to give up the ghost, leave my unfinished werk project as it stands (which is kinda sorta craptastic, TBH), and let the chips fall where they may at my meetings tomorrow.
This afternoon when the nanny brought the boy home from school, she told me that she asked the boy why the house was so quiet this morning. And the boy told his nanny that I was busy working last night, that I went to bed late, and I got up early so that I could continue working, thus everyone in the house was in a bit of a daze. The boy’s nanny told me that he told her that he thinks I work too much, which was both surprising and alarming to me.
Truth is, I don’t think that I work more than the average person, but I suppose even the average person is probably a bit overwhelmed with work these days. When I started my current gig, I imagined that I would be able to have a better handle on work-life balance, but the frequent travel and blurry lines between work time and home time have made the balance increasingly more difficult for me lately.
When the boy was a baby, I rocked him to sleep in my arms every single night, despite advice to the contrary. I was told that babying my baby would train him to expect a high level of attention from me forever (or at least for a long while), and would render him incapable of falling asleep on his own.
But that period of rocking my son to sleep each night didn’t last long, and definitely not as long as I would have liked, so I guess the joke is on the naysayers who advocated the cry it out method or something equally hands-off so that they can get in their evening grown-up time to do things like have cocktails and watch TV.
There’s a distinct possibility that I will have only one kid, which is sad and complicated for myriad reason, and as the days pass and my kid gets older and more independent, I highly doubt that he is going to fondly remember the times when I did an amazing job at work or when I got a promotion or when I closed a very important deal. Kids don’t care about or remember those kinds of things about their dads.
What my kid will remember, I hope, are the times when I was there when he needed me, when he would tell me his secrets late at night, when I would rock him to sleep in my arms way past the time when he needed or wanted me to.