As (bad) luck would have it, when Roger's out of town, all hell tends to break loose. I like to think I'm a pretty together mama, self-reliant worker bee and all-around feminist kind of gal, but it's weeks like these that I tend to start humming, "Stand by Your Man," on a daily basis because, really, I can't do it all (or don't want to do it all) without my main squeeze's help.
This particular business trip of Roger's was pretty short in the grand scheme of things--just five nights. I figured, no biggie. I can handle five nights alone in Toddlerville. And most of my dedicated Delaney time went pretty well. But of course things have a way of messing with you just when you think you've got it all nailed down.
Mathilde, she of the neighborhood-famous Houdini-dog escapes, jumped our (chain link) fence a few days ago. I've finally stopped chasing her down and worrying about her when she does this because she always comes back. She did this time too but her return was heralded not only by the stench of what I can only describe as Eau de Alley-Cat-Mud-Piss but also a sad little limp, which then turned into a full-blown, three-legged hobble yesterday and a visit to the vet (cha-ching!) today. It wouldn't have been a big deal to handle her crisis (fractured nail that required trimming along with a shot of antibiotics and ten days worth of more antibiotic pills - double cha-ching!) but Delaney came down with a cold yesterday (yes, just three short weeks after her last cold - and it's summer! and she's not even in school yet!) and the vet visit coupled with a snotty, irritable child who was awake and uncomfortable for most of last night killed all of our plans for today. We had to cancel two play dates and an open house at her new school where we were supposed to meet her teacher and tour her classroom.
I wanted to be petulant about it. I wanted to whine and complain. I wanted someone to care that I'd hardly slept and that I'd been looking forward all week to the plans we made for today. But what would've been the point? I had to keep telling myself: it is what it is. Suck it up, care for your daughter and your dog with the grace and love of a better person and just pick up an extra dozen glazed at the grocery store. Because normally in a situation like this? With Roger gone and me on my own to handle it all? I'd turn to chardonnay for a bit of cheer. Donuts have become this pregnant woman's cocktail equivalent and today happy hour started at 9:00 a.m.
* Thank God it's Friday and Roger's coming home.