Time ain't no friend of mine

I never was much good at physics. Make that science in general. No matter how hard I pretended to try I just couldn't grasp the weird concepts being thrown at me. Bending lights, invisible rays, refraction, reflection, combustible liquids, the space-time continuum (what the hell is that?) time in general; none of it made sense.

The only thing I could really take from any science class, be it physics, chemistry or biology was that there were lots of rules. And equations. And that Bunsen burners were fun to muck around with. Until you blew something up and your chemistry teacher hauled your juvenile, asinine arse to the principal’s office and you were chastised and humiliated and made to sort through the lost property bin, knowing that at some point you’d probably come into contact with Russell Simpson’s pee-stained trousers. The Bunsen burners weren’t so much fun then. But I digress.

The reason I am talking about time is because, it has been one… two… three… (yes I am actually counting on my fingers) four years since my last confession and somehow, time has folded in on itself or ate itself or something else itself and now, well, shit, I am no longer writing about my beloved and I falling pregnant anymore because hey, we have a kid now and my God, how did that happen?

I actually know how it happened. Part of it. Remember that time I told you all about the wee sticks and the weird bed acrobatics and the trip to Port Douglas? Well, something happened. Despite old Doc Dancing Cat telling me my lack of swimmers was problematic, they did their job; or at least one of them did.

I could go into the next eight or so months and talk about the hell that is pregnancy but most of it would be wildly inaccurate and stained with the tears that I will inevitably shed as I recall it. Just know that many sacrifices were made, mainly from me, in the pursuit of wasabi peas. Oh I'm sure my wife struggled a bit too, given she is diabetic, developed carpal tunnel syndrome, had a bizarre addiction to Dawson's Creek and vomited a bit, but I can't vouch for her pain, only the pain she caused me. Like that time I smacked my head on a shelf at a dimly-lit Vietnamese grocer while foraging for a jumbo pack of extra-hot wasabi peas.

Anyway, that was then and this is now. And now I have a son. A son that is five years old. Five freakin' years old!

Time. The whole concept of it; how it's supposed to be the same every day. Twenty four hours. Seven days. Fifty two weeks. I call bullshit. Because by my reckoning, I went from a contented Doritos munching, beer chugging care-free bloke to the parent of a five-year-old kid in what was surely only about two months of real, actual time. And that is bullshit.