Today was not an easy day. Who am I kidding? This week has not been an easy week. Today was just (hopefully) the peak. Tomorrow we’ll be on the downhill slide, right?
First, let me start by saying that I’ve always had a tremendous amount of respect for single parents. Fathers, mothers, grandparents, guardians, all of them. It doesn’t matter who you are; if you can do it on your own, I tip my (hypothetical) hat to you (I can’t really pull off hats in real life).
This week has been an exercise in humility for me. For those of you who didn’t know (and let’s be honest: if you’re reading this you’re either my mom or my grandma, so yes, you did know. Hi mom!), I started a new job on Monday. That, in itself, was a pretty big deal. I was leaving behind all of my professional career experience and diving into something completely new and unknown. I was excited, nervous, hopeful, and completely freaked out. I hate being the new person; from having to ask where the bathroom is to waiting it out to learn all of the little idiosyncrasies of the office, being new is hard.
Last week, as I was saying my goodbyes and doing the ol’ victory lap at my old job, my dearest Tots reminded me that this was the week he was going to be out of town for training. All. Week. Long. Now, I can’t be angry with him. He had scheduled this training long before my new job even came about. It was just really poor timing. Either way, I put on a smile (ok, so it might have been more of a forced grimace) as I saw him off on Sunday afternoon, and told myself that this first week at a new job and as a “fake single mom” was going to be just fine.
For the most part, it has been ok. If you do a body count, we’re all here. Everyone has all of their fingers and toes, Dexter hasn’t consumed anything poisonous or impassable (to my knowledge), and O has had healthy breakfasts and suppers and plenty of mommy-time. My to-do list for the week sits on the counter, with only one thing (of about 15) checked off, but I gave up on it after Monday night.
All in all, it was going well. Just a few minor mishaps and a lot of dirty dishes… until this morning. Last night was a totally normal night. 8:00 hit, O and I brushed his teeth, read a story, said prayers, and sang his lullaby. I kissed his shaggy little head and put him down in his crib, to hear nothing from him again until this morning. He started stirring around 6:30, but fell back asleep for a while (score! I love those mornings when I can get ready without having my makeup drawer emptied and handed to me piece by piece!). Around 7:15, I went in to wake him up, only to be greeted by an all-too-familiar, unwelcome scent. Turning the lights on confirmed it: throw up.
Let me stop right here and mention that I’m not the designated puke-cleaner-upper in my home. I can handle poop-duty, snot wiping, mud smearing, and slobber-dripping. I can clean candle wax out of the carpet or mystery-mess off of the couch, but puke is my true weak point. Tots, bless his heart, is your man if you’ve got a puke incident. The guy has a steel stomach. He does the puke, I can do anything else; I think it was written in our marriage vows.
I don’t say it often, so I guess it’s a big deal that I’m putting this in writing for everyone to see (Tots, if you only read one of my blog posts, it probably better be this one). I’m a lucky lady to have as much help from my husband as I do. This week has opened my eyes to the fact that I can do it on my own, but it really sucks. And the “it” that I do on my own is much, much smaller than the “it” that I can do when Tots is here to help out.
From little things, like unloading the dishwasher or taking care of the garbage on garbage day, to big things, he’s a pretty good guy to have on my team. I know I’m not the only one who has missed him. Dex has been anxiously pacing, whining, and barking at the slightest sounds (burglars, beware) and O has been pointing at the tv remote and asking for Daddy. I know when he walks in the door, O will grin and run to him with his arms outstretched, and Dex will wag his entire body (boxers apparently are incapable of wagging just their tails) and run circles around his feet.
I think I’ll show him how much I missed him by leaving a huge stack of dishes in the sink and an overflowing trash can in the garage.