I have so much to freaking say that I don’t know where to start. So I just will.
Those that know my husband and me closely know we are still boyfriend/girlfriend. We want to talk, text, and steal kisses whenever we can. We finish each other’s sentences, we share a brain, we baby each other and use special voices and couple’s jargon. So not to anyone’s surprise, when he’s gone I miss him. Really crazy miss him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am a fully sufficient 36 year-old-woman. I know how to mow and take out the garbage. But something inside me just isn’t right when he’s gone. I feel off balance.
A few business trips ago I had posted something about being a “single Mom” for the week and using that term got mixed reviews. Some of my friends completely understood, also having husbands that either travel or aren’t home at night. Some of my friends had no clue because they had never spent a night alone in their beds. And some of my friends were…offended…because as I was told very bluntly, having a husband that will be home eventually is not by any circumstance the same as not having one at all. Touché.
Regardless (or irregardles, I forget which one to use) it sucks when you are used to something and that something isn’t there. I am a spoiled bitch that has a husband that is on full kids detail when he’s around. He takes them shopping, teaches them how to plant grass seed, and plays on the computer with them tirelessly. He has the patience of a parent that isn’t with children round the clock. I on the other hand have child anxiety. Yes I have been a parent for almost 9 years. Yes I am a goddamned public school teacher.
But when I’m alone with my brood I feel overwhelmed and anxious. I feel like it’s two against one. I feel like I won’t know what to do if we are in the line at Target and one has to use the bathroom. As someone that lives off of order and routine, the unpredictability of being a “single Mom” for even a week is enough to give me eyestrain.
So what did I do this week? I chauffeured to several practices. I managed to obtain edible groceries. I PTA’d a school event. I ran a few miles. I participated in a parent-child soccer match at a Birthday party. I cut the grass. I mailed a package. I made it to the Education Office. I sent a few marital snapchats. I took out the garbage.
I didn’t do a damn thing that I don’t already do, which is everything, and yet nothing feels right because something is missing. Times like these point to only one logical solution. Eat junkfood. And junkfood I have eaten. And eaten.
I am going to welcome home my man with three pounds worth of a double-chin. But he will love me and be home. And he will wipe the cookie crumbs off my face and lick the pizza grease from my fingers and just like that life will be back to normal.
And then thank fuck I’ll be stable enough to diet again.