i should at least be tying flies

Sitting here on a rainy day, my mind tends to drift.
Since nothing is happening, my mind has leaned toward the possibility that I will be catching fish this weekend.
Now, the weather has been lousy: Rain, 45 degrees and wind. But I guess it's better than ice fishing on Lake Champlain or whether the ice will even hold you off Rouse's Point. Still, I'm recuperating from a week-and-a-half-long flu that left me flat on my back for most of that time.
And for most of that time, that meant my wife was stuck doing to full shift of duties around the house and watching the baby, which is a full-time job for two people (three would actually work better).
So will I actually load the kayak onto the Blazer, get the rods and reels set, dig out my waders and life vest and hit the rivers? Doubt it.
But it's nice to think about it anyway.
Instead, I'll be making up for lost time with my boy, which is fine. We end up talking about fishing a lot anyways. Well, I do, and he listens. At least I think he listens. He doesn't seem to mind. And occasionally, I get a giggle.
I guess I'll wait another week. Of course, the following week, my mom will be in town. So, there's no fishing then, either. Maybe the week after that. Is that when we go to Florida? I can't remember.
See, winter gets like that. So does life. Before the baby came (and believe me when I say I'd give up fishing for the rest of my life to spend just one afternoon with that incredible little boy), I was out just about every weekend. Saturdays were the day, generally. And sometimes other days, or nights, too. It's true what they say, that once that baby comes, you'll never see another movie at the theater, go to dinner (that doesn't involve at least a high chair and kiddie menu) or go out, just the two of you.
Well, all and all, it's been 24/7 baby.
We even talk about the baby when he's sleeping, or, like we did on New Year's Eve, when he was with a sitter (my mother-in-law).
I often dream about fishing with him, and I wonder how he'd do in a Baby Bjorn strapped to my chest as I waded into Johnson Creek...
He'll be one year old this summer, and that means he should be walking soon after. Which means it's time to teach him to fish.
But this is all in the planning stages right now. I hope to God he enjoys the sport, but if he doesn't, well, that's the way it goes.
For now, though, I should at least be tying flies.