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Friday March 20, 2026

This was the last week of my paternity leave. I had some pretty big dreams for this time, and it’s safe to say they weren't realistic. Some may have been more realistic before, you know, reality happened, but a few were really never going to happen.

I was working basically this entire time, since 60% of my income still comes from freelancing, but I figured I could take Des to coffee shops and libraries, do some work, read a book, and grab lunch on the way home, and it would all be hunky-dory. The first time I planned to actually go work at a coffee shop with him, though, Lindsay laughed at me.

“What do you think he’s going to do while you’re working? Just sit there? Sleep?” She said.

What I knew about my child and what I wanted for myself suddenly collided. Lindsay suggested I call Shauna Shaw and just have a human conversation instead. So, that’s what I did. For most of the first half of paternity leave, actually, I just followed Shauna’s lead. Des and I went to Melrose mom coffee at Cafe Nero, we went to story time at the library or Molly’s Bookstore, we took swimming classes in Winchester. It wasn’t the statewide coffee shop, library, and brewery tour I imagined it would be, but it was a nice rhythm at the very least.

Since the house burned down, the dream that became reality has since been flirting with nightmare. Nightmare is a strong word; maybe sleep paralysis is more accurate. San Diego was a magnificent break, but since the fire, it’s been a high-wire act of living, working, and caring for two needy children. Donations, pack-n’-play, moving, insurance, packing, unpacking… I don’t have the time, energy, or patience to detail every little complication of the last six weeks. Those complications are floating outside my head like the bags and papers and books we don’t have storage for in our apartment. Our minds are cluttered, our lives are cluttered, and it’s been exceedingly difficult to declutter them.

Guiltily, I’m very ready to go back to work, mostly because it means Desmond goes to daycare. I’ve had so much fun with this kid, but Goose is still losing his mind whenever he’s alone in the apartment. He’s getting better, but I can’t really test him yet. Coming home to absolute destruction with a wide-awake and demanding baby is an absolute no-go. Both of these kids are clingy, but in different ways. Desmond needs attention always. Goose just needs to be around. The furry one is capable of independence right now, but I need someone to take the hairy one for a little while so I can build that independence back up. For all of our sakes.

I’m tired of being in this apartment all day. I’m tired of sprinting through hour-long writing sessions while Des is napping. I’m tired of Lindsay’s time at home being one constant sprint of getting things done that I couldn’t do earlier in the day. I’m tired of how fat I’m getting from having absolutely no time to exercise.

It’s been so incredibly rewarding to watch Desmond turn into a little boy who smiles, laughs, rolls, has teeth, eats solid foods, and has a little personality of his own, but I hate that I haven’t been able to give him the attention he deserves these last few weeks. I’m constantly distracted, always have another task to do, and have stopped going to those little events that socialize and excite him. At home, it all had become a breeze. In this apartment, I can’t find the rhythm.

I’m happy he’s starting daycare because he’ll just have more attention than Lindsay or I can offer, especially when I’m also back to working full-time. It sucks to have to make that choice. It sucks that I’m pretty sure we’ll both be better parents when we’re with our kid less. What a fucked up world we live in to create this reality.

One Hollywood: Hamnet

After reading Oscars, Brandon Boyd texted me, “Hamnet unraveled me like no other movie ever has.” It’s on Peacock now, so I finally saw it. I get what he means. “Des’s existence will make you more susceptible to Hamnet’s unraveling than I even was,” he said. He probably isn’t wrong, except that Des’s existence also made it incredibly difficult to actually focus on the movie. Even so, I felt a little grip of the throat here and there watching this imagined origin tragedy for Hamlet while a little monkey demanded to be bounced on my knee and raised over my head. Jessie Buckley’s Oscar win was well-earned. Paul Mescal… I really don’t get the Paul Mescal thing. Regardless, this one probably would have come in at number four on my Oscars list, just behind Bugonia.

One Book: Clap Your Hands by Elmo

There have probably been 100 editions of this book. I couldn’t find ours, which was generously donated by… somebody. Anyway, Desmond loves this book but only if you make Elmo sing “If You’re Happy and You Know It.” If you make Elmo do anything else, he cries. Want to make Elmo ask Des about his day? Tears. Want to make Elmo tell a joke? Screams. Want to make Elmo do a silly Nazi salute? Straight to jail. Elmo does one thing: Sing “If You’re Happy and You Know It”.

One Song: Free Range - Tilt

A couple weeks ago, Alastair Butler, who doesn’t post very often on Instagram, shared an extensive story with his ten favorite albums of last year. He has pretty decent taste in music, as I recall, so I added all of his picks to a playlist. A few of his picks I was already sort of familiar with, but most were new to me, including Free Range, which is so up my alley they might as well be a dumpster with a broken lock.