Dad's dreadful day, when Mom goes out to play

I love my husband. He is a good man with a kind heart. 
That's why when I asked him to baby-sit my toddler for a few hours, he politely agreed. According to him he had no reason to say no. 
Firstly, because he was taking care of his own child. He said that the father and son needed to have bonding sessions to help the little boy grow into a man (however that'd work in a single session).

'Son, today I'll teach you to throw a ball, run across a field, play cricket, hop on one leg and  if there's time left, operate an airplane'

And second most importantly, because it was his day off.

I needed to go out for the much awaited spring shopping to pull myself out of the mess of spit-on clothes and comfort PJs. I wanted to bedazzle myself in the mirror and had every intention to do so.
So for the next 3 hours I was contently indulging myself in self-pleasure through retail therapy, with the assurance of quality time being spent between the parent and child.

'I love my life again!'

However, it was a different case when I got home.

I was welcomed with a cranky baby and a frustrated dad.

what I expected ..
.

... what actually was!

Let me narrate the two spectacles separately.

The tiny time-bomb

The baby was indeed a time-bomb. 

As soon as I had left, the timer had been set to explode upon the arrival of the child's mother.

The proceedings as described by the sole witness (the father) included the baby starting to get agigated. Allowed to play freely in his walker, the baby had simply refused to make the most of his independence and constantly kept whining about in a language comprehensible (but not translatable) by peers of his age only.

Nothing soothed him. From the offering of a bottle, to the pacifier and eventually succumbing to the act of self puppetry by a giant man, it seemed there was no solution to the problem at hand.

'Now he must really think I'm not cool'

However, the source was very obvious and potently wreaking. 

All the baby needed was a diaper change. Unfortunately the dad does not play that game. He completely refuses to change a diaper as if it were a sin.

Operation Diaper: Lethal 

The problem then had laid on both ends.

The first-time dad

I feel sorry for him as I write this. He is such a sweetheart and now I think I had entrusted him with the task of titans. Such a job demands preliminary training on-the-job. Only then should the weapon be tossed into the hands of a novice.

I mistakenly had attempted an act as inconsiderate as asking this cat to teach chemistry.

My husband had planned on watching the UFC with the baby, and later try to teach him how to punch a boxing bag (once again how was this practically possible?). On the contrary the baby ended up familiarizing him with the range of vocal chords of a human.

No doubt it was nothing less than a traumatic experience for each party in their own respect. But I do appreciate the fact that despite everything that went on inside the house, my husband never bothered me once and let me enjoy the time I had with myself. And for that I love him even more.

The horror though shall linger on for a few more days.

Oh well, what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.