Like father, like son

Today was the last day of a long weekend, and also the last day of an even longer week off from work. So Bill and I both have been walking around all day with the knowledge that tomorrow is going to suck, which means some unnecessary bickering was inevitable.

I went out to run some errands early this afternoon, leaving Bill home with the laundry and a napping baby. When I came home, about 2 hours later, the laundry was almost done ... but the baby was still sleeping. But of course, the baby began to stir as soon as Mama walked through the door, bags in hand. So I took over while Bill left to get a haircut.

I saved Xavier from his baby prison, changed his diaper and brought him downstairs, where I fed him some soy yogurt and rice crackers. Then I chased him around the living room -- for a baby with a broken arm, he moves pretty fast. Bill returned a little while later and grilled up some burgers for the two of us.

Since he had made lunch, I told him to leave the dishes; I would do them if he watched the baby. He asked me what time I had changed his diaper and they went upstairs. Bill came down, alone, 5 minutes later.

I turned around from the dishes and asked, "Where's the baby?"

"He's upstairs," he said. "It's nap time."

I had known that's what he was going to say before I even asked, so then I yelled. "He just woke up! Why would you put him to bed again?"

He went back upstairs and brought Xavier down with him. When I finished the dishes, Xavier was crawling around, this close to trouble on one side of the living room, and Bill was sitting on the couch on the other side of the living room, looking at his phone. I probably yelled something, or maybe I just thought it, but either way, Bill knew I was mad and we started the spiral where I get mad at him and he gets madder.

Jenny called me just then, so I went upstairs to hang up some clothes while hearing about her weekend. When I came down, Xavier was still trying hard to get into trouble, and Bill had switched to a different couch.

I began the argument I'd been having in my head for a half hour. "Listen. I know I'm lazy, and I try really, really hard not to be lazy with him. We don't read to him, we don't sing to him and we don't take him for walks. All he does while he's awake is play around on the floor with his toys, and I make a conscious effort to play with him and not just sit and watch. And I still feel bad about not doing enough. I have had to pee since I walked in the house and I still haven't because I was playing with him, but as soon as I handed him over to you, you tried to put him down for a nap! And he's sitting around in his diaper!"

"I took off his shorts when I brought him up for his nap."

"Well I know you think it would be great to hang out with no pants on, but I don't think he likes it as much as you do."

"Xavier -- are you having fun hanging out with Dada?"

Clear as day, Xavier said, "Yeah!"

[You have to understand, the only words he says at this point are "Mama," "Dada" and a whole lot of "ba, ba, ba, ba, ba."]

And just like that, Xavier ended the potential fight. How could I argue with that?