There are times when I waver in my certainty about ever Not having another baby. Yes, Yes, I KNOW my husband has a vasectomy and this means I would either have to have some kind of husband coup take place OR convince him to have it reversed ( which has about much chance of happening as Dick Cheney embracing his inner hippie and giving back all of his ill gained money)...
It is at these times when I am immensely grateful that I wrote all of this DOWN in 2005. It helps to kill that urge a little bit. Not entirely, but a little bit.
My husband is in New York. This means that I am a single parent. This means, more specifically, that I am in charge of dinner, packing snack, getting homework done and back in the folder, making sure library book is being returned on library day, medications ( me and her), getting us both showered and dressed and out the door, with the hope that I am going to get to work on time.
Let's take a look at how I have done so far:
I arrive home at 5:15 and walk over to the neighbor's to pick Em up. We walk home. I am thankful that the man my husband called to look at the furnace seems to have fixed it, as there is now heat in the house.
Em asks "Can I have dessert?"
Me: "Talk to me after dinner"
Me ( a few minutes later) "Hey, you want me to bake this chicken pot pie?"
** Don't get impressed - we now buy a weeks worth of meals from a personal chef and put them in our freezer. Best damn money we ever spent.**
Em: "No, I want salami." Pause "Can I have salami?"
Me: "How about some meatloaf? and potatoes?"
Em: "How about some salami......and cheese."
I am now at the very limit of my motherly meal offerings. My temper is beginning to wane.
Me: "Well how about some salami and potatoes and a vegetable?"
Em: "How about salami and corn?"
SOLD. I fix my daughter a plate of salami and corn.
Em: "Can I have dessert when I am done?"
Me: "I don't know yet - talk to me later."
I eat the rest of the meatloaf.
We get homework done, and she asks to watch TV. It is before 7 p.m. so, OK, you can watch a little tv.
With my husband out of the house, my daughter attempts to crawl into my colon. I can't shake her. She stands outside of the bathroom as I pee. I walk to the kitchen to get some water, I turn , she's standing right there. I walk to the living room to to turn off a light, she shadows me.
Me: "Stop following me!"
Em: Shooting me a very baleful look indeed, walks back to the bedroom.
I get to the bedroom. I turn on the computer.
Em: "Can I have desert? Mama? Can I ? Can I have dessert Mama?"
I don't know what child's terrorist training camp she picked up this little tactic from, but it grates on me terribly. She repeats my name over and over, asking the same questions. I could rent her to the military. The Guantanamo guys have nothing on my kid.
Me: "Emily, if you ask me one more time - that's it. You get nothing."
Six minutes pass. Yes, I counted. Six damn minutes.
Em: "Mama, I am not asking you the thing. But can I Mama?"
I am at the very edge of my patience. Like the "about to flip out" edge. I turn, and look at her. She is carefully not looking at me.
Me: "I told you, you asked again. No dessert. Now please - leave me alone. Mama is begging you."
The crying starts. No, let me re-phrase - the banshee wailing starts. I am now forced to say:
"If you don't stop that noise, you are going to bed AND I won't let you be Addy in the American Girl Fashion show"
Ooooooooo. That is an effective threat. The noise stops immediately.
She settles, we read. I get her ready for bed. Ahhhh, blessed aloneness is coming. I can taste it.
Me: "good night honey - you can come in my bed when you wake up"
Em: "Ok, night Mama. Oh, and Mama? Can I have dessert tomorrow?"