Soon, I Will Eat on the Floor With the Dogs

I used to have a pool table. It sat in my dining room and served as both a diversion to boredom and a topic of conversation. I was cool. I always had the pickup line at the bars…"You want to come back to my place for a game of pool?” Yeah, baby. It worked as often as sinking the 8-ball on the break, but at least it gave me a shot.

Now, I have a dining room table sitting where the pool table once stood, a stark symbol of my changed relationship status and loss of coolness. To make matters worse, it doesn’t even function as a dining room table. It is my wife’s scrapbooking table.

Life as a married man.

But, even with marriage, I still watched what I wanted on television (we have two different TVs), I still played cards when I wanted to play (mostly) and I got my drink on with regular gusto.

They say life changes when you get married. For me, life didn’t change much. I married a younger, independent woman who didn’t need me clinging to her 24-7 and was fine with my chosen methods of having fun.

But then came the baby.  

I heard Tiger Woods hit a hell of a shot to win the Memorial golf tournament the other day. I say “heard” because I wasn’t watching, despite the fact I was home and the TV was on.

We were tuned to Sprout, the children’s learning channel. We are pretty much tuned to Sprout whenever the TV is on. I have lost control of my house to a 9 month old.

I no longer watch what I want on television. I have played cards one time since Sydney was born, and that was couple of weeks ago. You don’t get your drink on when you 1) have a daughter to care for and 2) know you will not sleep through the night or get any naps the next day because she demands your attention.

Life as a father.

I’m not complaining. I love my little princess and I’ll sacrifice the TV or playing cards or a few beers to make sure she is happy. But life if far different from when I was single, or even married. Brooke and I used to rock and roll baby, living the nightlife on weekends. Now, we find ourselves using the word “potty” far more than “party.” With apologies to the favorite band of my grade-school years, KISS, I want to sleep all night, and potty every day.

I moved the coffee table in my living room to the basement so my daughter has room to roam around the floor. The coffee table served as my defacto dinner table during my wife’s quest to be the Martha Stewart of scrapbooking. Now, I find a spot on the floor for my glass while my plate of food teeters on my knee.

If you think it is bad for me, you should see my poor dogs. They used to be the “babies.” They were used to getting attention when I came through the door. Now, they’re second-class citizens. They don’t understand why this 18-pound scream machine whom they could knock over with their wagging tail is more important than them.

They clamor for a little scrap of love after Sydney gets her smothering. My German Shepherd is so jealous he has taken to eating the baby’s toys.

Sorry bud, we all have to make sacrifices. You don’t get enough petting. I eat dinner with my plate on my knee. Who has it worse?  

When do I get my house back? You experienced parents can answer that better than I. But I have to believe at some point I can bring back the coffee table, watch true crime on the ID Channel or catch a sporting event on weekend TV.  

Until then, I’ll stay up to date on the Wiggles and Bert and Ernie and rely on YouTube to catch all of Tiger's great tournament-clinching shots.