I have a new roommate. My girlfriend has some new duties at work, which means extra late nights, so my (our) son is now with me three to five nights a week in addition to the five days he has already been spending here.
My girlfriend and I still don’t live together, so up until now she’s been dropping him off at my place at 5am, then she drives to work. He has been staying with me for two nights a week for a few months now, we kind of started that to give my girlfriend a break — she has a newly six-year old son as well as a full time job lifting stuff.
But mostly I started the two-night-a-week thing so I could ease my way into full time parenting because, at some point, my girlfriend and I will be living together — either I’ll be well enough to get off disability, or the disability people will change the rules so the disabled can finally live with their families without having their income cut in half.
Even though it might be another few years yet, I’m betting it’ll be the former.
My fifth column will be published next week. The editors of the paper — it’s a 40-50 page weekly, tabloid style owned by MetroLand Media — have been tinkled pink about them all so far. I’ve spent some time reading the other papers in the city, and most of the other columnists are writing about their personal aggravations.
“Today I woke up, had a coffee and hit the same pothole on the way to work, I hate my husband’s cooking.” I’m paraphrasing all of them. So far mine have been very different. I’ve written about bullying; the relationship between me, my grandfather, and hockey; the stupidity of Steve Jobs and pseudo-science; something else and the latest one.
I’m not bragging… much, it’s just that mine are different.
Despite it being 2am and my son is crying because his bottle is warming up, and not in his hand, it has been a very peaceful couple of weeks*.
Which is a nice change from the bizarre chaos I’ve been living in since last February. I suddenly have a job I very much enjoy, albeit one that takes up about eight hours of my week and pays me not very much at all, and I have my son with me pretty much 24-hours a day, almost seven days a week.
My burn has turned into a scar, my bills are mostly paid, I’m pretty confident I’ll have enough money to last until my next cheque arrives, and my blood sugar numbers are awesome. And I get new glasses this week. It’ll be nice to see stuff again.
*…of course I could be delusional from lack of sleep, but as long as I don’t get a full nights sleep ever again I’ll never know the difference.