When hubs tells me he's going on a business trip, I dread it. I'll hope March never arrives and I envision myself rocking back and forth with a steak knife in each hand listening for door janglers, like, COME AT ME BRO. I think of the days and nights and days of handling three kids on my own - me having to separate the pukers from the screamers like some kind of war zone triage in my temp-controlled suburban living room.
On a normal day, hubs gets up with the baby and lets me sleep in a few minutes. Then he makes coffee and does reassuring old guy stuff like gets the newspaper (made of paper! real paper!) off the driveway in his pajamas. So far he's never yelled at anyone to get off his lawn, but give him . . . two years. I love it. He makes me feel safe and happy like a big, strong human pad lock. So when I think of him flying away in the sky for a few days, I get the shakes.
I make a big deal about him leaving. Before he goes, I slobber all over him and promise to calculate the milliseconds until he comes back.
I'm really trusting you here internet, but I have a secret. It's actually kind of fun when he's gone. Yeah! That's right! It does suck being the sole toddler referee for 72 hours, but there are upsides. Hoooo, are there upsides. Like . . .
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Filed under: Hitched