There are two constants in my house these days: breasts and HGTV. After years of claiming in all sincerity that we never watch television, seven weeks into parenthood Wifey and I now know all of the commercials by heart. Night and day, as she nurses the baby, we alternate between the stereo and the television. And while I’m not sure that this is how the term originally came into use – it’s finally dawned on me why they call it the “boob tube.” 

Some day in the not-to-distant future our son will learn to hold his head up properly and our repertoire of daily activities will expand. Now, though, our options are pretty much limited to walks around the neighborhood, excursions to the supermarket, and time spent on the couch. I’m contended by the rare moments when I’m allowed to change the channel to FX. (Which for better or worse I can get away with for longer when the programming is such as Kung Fu Panda – which it was on Sunday – than when something like Iron Man is on. That night, as we fed Little Dude, ourselves, and then the little guy again, we even enjoyed the sequel together, Kung Fu Panda 2.)

It’s like parenthood flipped the switch – during the pregnancy it was hard for me to sit still long enough to watch a half an hour of television, let alone an entire movie with commercials. Now I’m just dying for more control of the remote.

For Hanukkah this year Wifey and I have decided to forgo the exchange of material goods in favor of something far more precious: some time to ourselvesI get Saturday night and she gets Sunday afternoon. Originally, I was sure I would want to take myself out to dinner somewhere fun, maybe drink some special wine with friends.

Now I just can’t wait to watch an action movie uninterrupted from start to finish in solitude – with the volume blasting – followed by a solid eight hours of sleep.

How quickly things change.

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