Happy Mother's Day, Nick

A few days ago, the baby Skylar was flushed and pooping, so Nick came up for a consult.
I told him that it was probably nothing, just a reaction to the heat wave.
He wasn't sure, so he took her to the doctor.
Sure enough, she had an ear infection. The bill came to $60 (what!) and so Nick sullenly returned, cap in hand, to see if I could help out til next week when Shyla gets paid. Scott and I are tapped out, thanks to both of us being unemployed for four months, but I agreed to lend him the money for the afternoon, while Shyla went to her mom to shake her down.
A financial plan was arranged, baby was medicated, and all was right with the world once again.
A few hours later, I went down to their apartment to check on them and discovered that Skylar was back to her bouncy self.
Nick, on the other hand, looked very much like Jack Nicholson in The Shining: hair all akimbo, long scraggily sideburns, black under the eyes.
I remember that look.
All he was missing was the sweatpants.
While often wonderful, mothering a toddler all day long, all night long, all by yourself, can be a bitch.
There simply isn't enough to keep a 15-month-old occupied all day. As Nick has learned, no amount of Caillou or Gagnam Style will keep her enthralled twenty-four-seven, not even background dustups with Finnigan and Sophie.
Not even a visit or two during the day with Grandma upstairs.
Motherhood often resembles the final stage of dying.
No matter how many people are around you, you will always feel alone.
Usually, Nick goes about his mommy duties cheerfully, feeding, entertaining, changing diapers and so on, but he does so as one would expect a 27-year-old male who's addicted to World of Warcraft to do it. The child is maintained in a healthy manner, but all around her is chaos.
There are more Cheerios on the floor than on her tray. Diapers are flung about like the lingerie that got him in this mess in the first place. Baby is dressed in curious costumes with unmatched items, the bottom a bit too large, the top a bit too big. And it doesn't take a CSI to figure out what the girl had for breakfast. Just take a sample from her hair.
Still, I give Nick kudos.
It's not every guy will agree to the mommy track while Mommy's off earning the bread.
I'm sure he'd rather be working, but he can't find a job, and Shyla has boobs.
That's how Nick explains why she's working and he isn't.
Nick adores the baby, it's clear. He dotes on her like she's some kind of personal science project.
A kid can't ask for a better parent, whatever gender.
As in all things Nick, he just goes along to his own drum.
So Happy Mother's Day, Nick.
Hope the girlfriend brings you flowers and chocolates.
Or at least a can of Red Bull.
I'm proud of you, son.

And for all the female moms, here is a little musical interlude.
Hope you enjoy it. Keep a tissue handy; it's very sentimental.
Have a beautiful, child-centred weekend!