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| semi-single mom |
| 06.29.04 (1:32 pm) [edit] |
My husband has been working (thank G-d!), but his hours are brutal. He has to commute from our place in the city to a suburb over an hour away; the commute takes even longer because there is *one* Pace bus that goes out there in the morning and one that comes back at night. So, for the kids' waking hours, I'm a single Mom.Allow me to share with you what things were like the last time my husband had to work ridiculously long hours, a few months back: I’m sure every parent has had a night like I did last Tuesday night -- one of those nights that both test and prove your reasons for having children. I got home from work with a splitting migraine. My kids attacked me as usual as I came in the door. My husband had to work late, so the boys and I decided to picnic in the living room, which was, as I was to learn, not a smart move. Jacob took one bite of pasta and coughed. I asked him if he needed a sip of water. In response, he threw up all over the rug and the sofa. Danny made a beeline for the mess while Jacob tried, in vain, to control himself. “Bathroom, bathroom,” I begged, steering him in that direction. I plopped Danny on my bed where I could see him from the bathroom, only to turn back to Jacob and discover that he had not opened the toilet seat before throwing up again. I ran into the bathroom to help Jacob, hearing Danny behind me making retching noises and giggling. Upset by the horrible mess and his imitating baby brother, Jacob began to wail. My right eye squinted shut from the shattering pain slamming through my head. Leaving Jacob to take small sips of water in the bathroom, I put Danny to bed (turned on the humidifier and both nightlights, closed the closet door, started the lullaby CD, kissed the cheek, tiptoed out). Back to the bathroom I shuffled to strip down Jacob and get him into a bath. I wrapped Jacob in a towel and put him on my bed just in time to hear Danny wake up screaming. Running to the nursery, I found him standing in his crib, gesturing to me with his stuffed bear and chattering incoherently. I held him and sung along with his lullaby CD for two songs before putting him down. Back in my bedroom, I got Jacob snuggled into clean pajamas and bundled him off to brush his teeth REALLY well. We were halfway through his bedtime story when Danny began screaming again. In the nursery, I found the humidifier now nearly empty. I filled the reservoir while making Danny another bottle and then lugged it back to the nursery. I snuggled both boys into my bed to read them a story. At 8:30, Jacob went willingly enough to bed (humidifier, nightlights, CD, kiss). Now it was an hour past Danny’s usual bedtime. I could tell he was exhausted, but he couldn’t seem to settle down. “What is it, Danny?” I pleaded. “Blah-blah,” he responded. ‘Yogurt,’ I thought and cowered through my migraine to the kitchen and back. “Ya-gah?” I asked Danny. “You want some yogurt?” He took one spoonful, and I began to relax. I held out a second spoonful, and he shook his head so vehemently it made me dizzy. “Okay, no yogurt. How about a diaper? Want Mommy to change you?” “Blah-blah,” he answered. That couldn’t hurt, I figured. I changed Danny from his nearly-dry diaper to a completely dry one. We tiptoed back into the nursery (nightlights, CD, kiss). Danny rubbed his eyes and went down peacefully. I had just enough time to take an aspirin before hearing it again; “Blah-blah, Blah-blah!” I sighed; I knew if my husband was home he would gently tell me that Danny needed to cry himself to sleep. I fell onto my bed, determined to be strong. Ninety seconds later, Danny was on my shoulder, shuddering with sobs and clutching the bear and the blue blanket. “Danny, what’s wrong?” I asked. All he would say was “Blah-blah,” very determinedly as I put him back on my bed. He showed me his bear and tossed it away; showed me his blue blanket and pushed that away, too. “I don’t know…” I trailed off. He dove for the pillows and, shoving them aside, wedged his little face between the edge of the mattress and the headboard. “Blah-blah!” ‘If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,’ I thought, and knelt down next to him. I could see a lump on the floor behind the bed. Forcing my arm down, I felt around wildly and finally my hand closed on… Danny’s favorite blankie. The ivory Comfort Silkie was my son’s favorite thing to sleep with, hide behind and drag around the house like a tiny, diapered Linus. My son clutched it to him, exclaiming “Blah-blah!” He showed it to me. “Blah-blah!” He nuzzled it. My poor little baby had been trying to tell me for almost two hours that he wanted his favorite blanket! Imagine – a night filled with screaming, vomiting, cleaning the latter, rushing around like Inspector Clouseau – and I was happier than I’d been in days. When my husband came home from work at nearly 10 o’clock, he found me glued to the bed, a very happy mommy with a very happy baby (and Blah-blah) by my side. |
posted by: katieharbaugh (reply)
post date: 06.29.04 (11:45 am)
Hey mom!! Keep up the good work, someday your kids will really thank you :) I sure do appreciate all the work my parents went through, we are six kids...
posted by: almsthvn (reply)
post date: 06.30.04 (8:08 am)
My best friend just had her 3rd & I'm convinced she's mad. I can barely handle the one plus her daddy! (He counts as a child, right?)
If anyone deserves a night alone in a hotel room with a comfy robe, bath salts and a bottle of wine, it's you, girl!
posted by: JT (reply)
post date: 06.30.04 (8:25 am)
That's my dream.... a glamorous hotel room, complete with Jacuzzi, and just myself!
But since I'm dreaming, it can't be a scary hotel room where people can rent by the hour... we're talking Caesar's Palace or equivalent high-roller suite.
A girl can dream!
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