22 April 2011

The Blank Page

The muse is sleeping. Inspiration is dormant.

(No, really, the Doozer is taking his afternoon nap.)

But more than that, I sit staring at the page, having developed this week a severe case of writer's block. I'm struggling to think of something Doozer-related I really want to document, some amusing anecdote to recreate in this space.

Entertain me, Son! Dance, monkey, dance!

But alas, inspiration is not forthcoming. This failure to produce material is something else I can now blame on him. Like no longer being able to stay awake until midnight or being free to play that new Beastie Boys single featuring the occasional profane lyric when his sensitive, innocent ears are within hearing distance. The fact that I haven't seen the inside of a real bar in forever or taken a proper vacation since his birth.

Kids ruin everything. Seriously.

Of course, the flipside of this scenario is that you can blame them for all kinds of stuff, stuff that's actually your fault and has almost nothing to do with your kid. You can use them as a scapegoat and an excuse for just about anything. Getting out of social engagements you'd rather not attend, or by way of explanation for forgetting a friend's birthday. So sorry, I have a kid now. They are exhausting and time-consuming and use up all of my time/brain power/energy/interest/time.

You can also exploit them. Let's call it kidsploitation. They can help you get an extra food sample at the grocery store by virtue of being so darn cute. Their warm cuddliness can be leveraged to convince their grandparents to take them off your hands for a bit, whenever you want to do something, anything, that isn't Doozer-centric. And with those same friends whose birthdays you forgot all about, you can get your kid to say something funny to them over the phone and like magic, your friend has forgotten all about your offense, having been blindsided by your child's absurd adorableness.

So I guess they don't really ruin everything. Exactly. They can come in quite handy sometimes. They can even be quite useful on occasion. In ways that you never would have imagined before becoming a parent.

However, they can also be wildly unpredictable and wreak utter havoc on your existence. Like right now. So I think I'll go wake the Doozer and try to do get him to do tricks for me to help me overcome this writer's block. As his father, I'm sure I can command him to inspire me. That'll work, right?

Don't answer that.

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