Nine months of hell. No — a different nine months.

Boo looking angelic

Boo looking angelic. Just wait until the guests leave.

As we enter the waning days of maternity leave, I am more and more frequently visited by the realization that I am totally screwed.

Here’s the setup: Stay-at-home dad to a three-year old and a newborn. No day care or local grandparents. Not even a playgroup (although that’s kind of my fault).

Said three-year old is studying up on methods of sibling rivalry and regression. She’s already learned to pitch a royal hissy whenever her desired parent (which, since I’ll be the only parent around during the day, will be me) is holding the baby. And she frequently refuses to wear clothing sized above 18 months: she wants (for reasons that are painfully clear but painfully unfixable) only baby clothes.

I foresee much takeout. Video time approaching criminal levels. And — and this is probably most painful for me — I expect to rarely see my friends until that happy day when nursery school starts in September.

So, for nine months, I will be filling 40 hours a week with entertaining and enriching experiences, looking after the feeding of a big girl (who wants to be an infant) and an infant (who wants to be a big girl), arranging two or three naps a day, and oh, keeping the house in order. (Hah!)

How exactly do y’all make this work?