Oh, Daddy!

This week I’ve realized more than ever how lucky I am to have a partner in this crazy journey called parenthood. I must tip my figurative hat to single mothers, because I really don’t know how they do it.

My husband was virtually absent for the last two weeks due to insane amounts of overtime, and now that things are back to normal, I am heaving a big sigh of relief.

You see, while my husband leaves the house at 8am and usually doesn’t return until 6:30pm, those few precious hours make a big difference. Having him around to do bath time and story time while I clean up and maybe, just maybe, zone out to trashy TV for half an hour, is essential to my sanity. (Yes, I admit it. I watch eTalk. Don’t judge me.)

On days when I’m flying solo, bedtime is a lot earlier for our munchkin. It’s only 6pm? The sun is still shining? Well, mommy’s exhausted, little one, so it’s time for bed.

Daddy also gives long, fun, playful baths, chases the naked baby around the room, and reads lots of stories. Mommy, on the other hand, is all business. She has played all day and now she’s done. Soap up, wash the hair, rinse, dry, diaper, PJ’s, story, nurse… and done! In 15 minutes flat!

I think my son and I both like it better when daddy does bedtime.

I remember in the early weeks how my husband would come home from work, exhausted and hungry, and I would burst into tears, apologize that there was no dinner, thrust our tiny infant into his arms, and escape into the shower. I would call him at work, sobbing, with the baby wailing in the background, begging him to come home early. I would crawl into bed at 3am, weary from an hour of soothing a crying baby, and he would sleepily ask: “Any idea why he keeps waking up?” And I would suppress the urge to throw something. No, I have no idea. If I did, I would solve it. Honey. Sweetie. Love of my life.

Now my days are much easier (and involve less sobbing), but I still want a break by the end of the day. If he needs to stay late at the office, or if he goes to play squash after work, I look at him forlornly, as if he has abandoned us. As if he doesn’t have long days too.

To compromise and give us both some “free time,” Saturdays have now become a family game of tag. He leaves early in the morning to play squash, and as soon he gets home, I take off for a long run. I get home and he leaves to run errands, ride his bike, or work around the yard. He gets back and I take off to get groceries, get a haircut, or have tea with a friend. Thankfully, Sundays are our designated “family day,” and we all finally exhale and relax together.

My husband hugs me when I cry, cleans the coffeemaker even though he doesn’t drink coffee, lets me sleep in on Sundays, and goes out for milk at 10pm when I forget to buy groceries. And he never complains.

I think I might just be the luckiest woman on earth.