Notes on Prayer for the Sunday Paper, Unread

I realize it’s old-fashioned now to even read a Sunday newspaper, much less subscribe, much less pay kind of a lot of money to have it dumped on your suburban driveway before you arise, but hey, I admit it, I’m the last of the die-hard newspaper junkies and I’m going down fighting.

So, on a cold, gray Sunday, let’s talk about the genesis (heh, get it?) of Prayer for the Sunday Paper, Unread

One of the first and worst fights T and I had as parents was over the Sunday paper – literally over it. We were in that surreal and usually short-lived phase that new parents go through where you still try to cling vainly to vestiges of your former life. Exercising regularly, cooking and eating a nice meal, having sex on a regular basis – all out the window, pronto. But for us, for whatever reason, it was harder to let go of our Sunday paper ritual than all those other pleasures combined.

I won’t go into the ugly details, I will only say that one of us was trying desperately to get in five minutes of a nap before the baby’s nightly crying ritual began and the other was leisurely reading every single syllable of the Sunday New York Times, including luxury real estate, as we had always done pre-baby.

The baby, of course, wasn’t interested in aiding or abetting either of those activities. Upshot: two tired, angry adults squaring off over one infant and one large pile of newsprint. I do quite vividly remember shouting, “There is no downtime. Not on the weekends, not on Sundays, not ever.”

Painfully, I was way more right about that than I ever intended to be. But I’ve made my peace. If you run into me at the pediatrician’s office some Thursday afternoon, there’s a good chance I’ll have last week’s Week in Review stuffed into my purse. Just don’t ask which week it is.


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