the underwear drawer

tag team

Hee, funny. I just relieved one of the CNRAs from her room for 15 minutes so that she could run to the TV and get the voting call-in numbers for "American Idol". The only knowledge I have of "American Idol" is limited to the morning-after commentary I get in the OR, and though I am cognizant of the fact that tonight is, like, the final sing-off (or whatever) I am only vaguely aware of the contestants from passive media osmosis. I think it's down to The Grey Haired Guy and The Girl. (The CRNA is voting for The Grey-Haired Guy.)

So I'm on call again tonight, which means that Joe is at home with Cal. These past few weeks, we've been kind of tag-teaming it with child care, more out of necessity than anything else. Sometimes we can predict when we're going to be at work late, and unfortunately sometimes we can't--but anytime that lateness can be anticipated (a scheduled overnight call, for example) we need to make sure that the other parent can be home in time for The Nighttime Routine, consisting of dinner, bath, and other such revels. We've been reasonably successful this year in making sure that at least one of us is able to be home with the baby in the evenings, but the bad part about staggering out schedule is that during our busier periods, Joe and I don't really get to see each other at all. Sunday I was on call all day, Joe got home late Monday evening, I'm on call again tonight, and Joe has a late conference that he has to attend tomorrow night. Like two ships passing in the night. Tired ships.

I feel much less guilty about being at work when I know that Cal's with Joe, though. Knowing Cal's with Joe is the next best thing to being with Cal myself. Like right now, I'm sitting in a hospital call room, but I know that Joe and Cal are at home playing, taking a bath, getting into pajamas, bedding down for the night. And I know that the next time I talk to Joe, I'll get the full report, and I mean a full report, with a parent's attention to detail. I was just walking into my OR earlier this evening when I got a call from Joe at home. "I just want you to hear something," he said. There was a rustle, and some cajoling sounds. Then I heard Cal jabbering, "Da da dah dih dah." And then, "Wah wah wah."

"That's the first time I heard him say 'wah!'" Joe said, wresting the phone back. "Pretty cool!"

"Yeah," I told him. "Pretty cool." And the thing is this: even though I couldn't be there with them, I know that, with Joe at home, part of me was anyway.

Currently eating: Falafel from one of those sidewalk food carts. Don't tell me about the roach parts and fecal contamination, I DON'T WANT TO KNOW.