Apathy and Boredom

If there’s one thing I worry about more than anything else when it comes to the pending arrival of my child, it’s that Stephanie and I are two of the laziest, most apathetic people I know. Here’s an example.

I came home on Monday night and headed upstairs to ask Stephanie how her day was before starting supper. She was in the office, hunched over at the desk, playing Solitaire, and her one-word reply was, “Boring.” Okay, fine. Boring is good. Boring is better than bad. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, asked her what she’d like for a side-dish with dinner, and when she said she didn’t care, I suggested broccoli. She grimaced slightly, suggested she might have some of the fresh green beans she’d picked up over the weekend. She wondered aloud about what to have for a starch/carb. I had no suggestions, and it was getting late, so I headed back downstairs to get started on the only part of the meal I was sure of, the steak.

In the kitchen, I noticed that, despite her “boring” day, Stephanie hadn’t bothered to do the dishes. Okay, fine. Doing the dishes probably would have increased her level of boredom, and we wouldn’t want that. Sure, that limited my options of how to cook the steak strips I’d taken out in the morning, but I’d figure something out.

But then, suddenly, as I was preparing to broil the damn things, I felt the apathy wash over me. I didn’t want steak. Stephanie wandered in behind me, still trying to figure out what she’d have for a carb/starch, and she mentioned that she didn’t really want the steak either. Okay, fine. So, what do we do?

We have the steak.

This is a stupid issue that we run into at least once a month. Because I handle our cooking, and because I’m doing that cooking after a thirteen-hour work-day (including commuting time), I require a set of easy-to-prepare meals that necessitate as little complex thought as humanly possible. So, what we have for dinner is boring. It’s repetitive. And we could probably do something about it if we wanted to, but we don’t. I don’t want to take the time to learn new dishes, and Stephanie doesn’t want to learn how to cook because she seems to think it’s something she’s inherently bad at.

There are also days, like Monday, when she doesn’t want to clean, when she doesn’t want to do anything but sit and sew and play solitaire. I have those days, too. We all do. Except that, for Stephanie and I, those days seem to outnumber the days where we do want to do things by about a hundred to one.

This is an attitude that simply cannot continue when we have the kid. And we’ve talked and joked about it, imagining the kid wailing away in the middle of the night and then the two of us having a conversation that goes something like this:

Me: I don’t feel like changing his/her diaper. Do you?

Stef: Nope.

Me: Well, okay. I’m sure that he/she’ll go back to sleep in a minute. Right?

Stef: Sure. Probably.

But I’m a bit worried that, as much as we’re aware of the problem, and as ridiculous as the joke situations we come up with are, it’s not something that’s as easily correctable as we’d imagine it is. Who is going to change the kid’s diaper when neither one of us feels like it? It’ll be an interesting proposition, to say the very least.