The Hubby has been gone six days. He'll be back home by lunchtime tomorrow (Sat.). I have the great fortune of in-laws who love to have us visit when The Hubby is out of town. They get to spoil The Girl and I get to read a book. Win-win. Except when there are germs involved. The Girl has had a cold all week and I went ahead and did the honest & upright thing by telling the in-laws. They are germ-averse folks, not the "hey come on up and we'll make her chicken soup folks." So we didn't go visit them Thurs. - Sat. as planned. Instead we stayed home and I have kept The Girl happy with trips to the park, to the park and to the park, tried to keep up with the laundry and keep my my shit together (aka sanity). Throw in two trips to KFC this week and it's a fucking party.
This morning she announced that her stuffed pig Paulette had to go to the Pig Park. "And where is the Pig Park," I asked. "Right next to the Dog Park," she answered. So we went. Then I went home and cut back the overgrown flowers and plants in the backyard so The Hubby would only have to mow the lawn this weekend. And then we went to another park at the beach later. No nap for either of us. She didn't want to eat anything for dinner except a banana, grapes and carrots. No amount of bribery or threats of no TV were going to get the mac & cheese down. She was obstinate, violent, crabby, tired and very, very three. Then I lost it and yelled. Then I cried and wailed.
She started to cry. Her hair was already damp from running around and from the tantrum. She looked up at me all wet and red-faced and pleaded for a hug. "Please hug me Momma. Hug me. Hug me." She kept saying it even as I had her in a tight bear hug with tears streaming down both our faces. Then my heart broke because she said, "Please don't cry anymore, Momma. I'll be good."
I just wish he could have come home today. I really tried to keep my shit together, but sometimes I just can't. And no amount of deep breaths or rationalizing that she is only three is going to help. Six days is my limit for being a single parent. A shower and mommy milk in the big bed made it better for The Girl. But what makes it better for me? Why do I doubt my ability? Why is this the one job I always feel I'm going to get fired from?