Anthony is officially gone on business and I have spent almost the whole week at home alone with a toddler. And yet here it is, Thursday already, and I have survived without significant maiming and am even in good enough health to post. A motherfucking miracle.
I admit I’ve spent most of last weekend in poor spirits, missing my husband, feeling sorry for myself, and engaging in the sysiphusian task of getting things done around the house. I can’t get it all done, and thick-headedly, I am in denial about this. I want to be able to do it all, plus go to bed at a reasonable hour, cook dinner, and spend Quality Time with the little one. Although I’ve taken care of Isobel by myself, even for extended periods of time, I’ve never taken care of her alone for this long. I wouldn’t exactly say things have been easy, but I settled into a rhythm of sorts and I’m beginning to enjoy it.
The first night I thought it’d be fun to have Isobel sleep in bed with me. We coslept the hell out of Isobel’s first 19 or so months of life. She’s in her toddler bed now and sleeps happily at the foot of our bed. On Sunday night, she eagerly leapt into bed next to me. At this point I realized why we transferred her into the toddler bed to begin with. Surprisingly, the charm of your toddler sleeping next to you in bed wears off after about the second hour of her kicking you in the face and refusing to sleep. I think she had become accustomed to sleeping in her own little bed, because around the sleepless second hour mark, I moved her to her bed and she quickly fell asleep. Since then I’ve waffled back-and-forth: in bed with me sometimes, in her toddler bed sometimes. Really, it doesn’t seem to matter a whole lot to her, it’s a matter of a few feet anyway since her toddler bed is at the foot of ours. It comes down to that specific night: how tolerant am I to being kicked in the face? Turns out, about 60% of the time.
I’m lucky enough that I get to talk to Anthony a couple times a day and then Skype at night. Which is way more than most army wives (including my sister) get.
I did come down with another cold, but so far it’s been limited to copious amounts of mucus and coughing. I sound pretty terrible, I admit. And the sneezing is gross. But I’m doing well enough to be at work, sick and sleep-deprived and all. I feel like a Real Adult™, taking care of business and getting shit done.
I wonder if I’d be handling this as well if it weren’t for Isobel.