All three kids have been fast asleep for a couple of hours already - baby girl included.
I keep seeing little hand movements on the monitor, but I think she's good. If I join her soon she'll probably snuggle in and maybe suckle a bit of supper - or not - and that'll be her done until morning (if you can call 5:00am morning? I keep telling the boys 'Shhh, it's still the middle of the night. Go back to bed. Morning starts at 7:00am.' They're not swallowing Momma's crap though.
But - whatever! 8 til 5 with a 13 week old, incredible, right? This was unheard of for the boys! And I'm not getting engorged or squirting all over when she latches on in the morning. She's a milk guzzling pro!
Three nights on the trot Mommy and Daddy have had time to play our own version of 'Doctor' (our three year old got a Doctor kit for this birthday). We were on for a hat trick! Tonight, however, I've been blown off.
Daddy is very busy packing,
It's the hubs' fault I've opted for blogging instead of passing out alongside our girl. I was already half way to bed, when he asked me;
"Are you sure you're okay with me taking the boys on their first camping trip without you?"
Well, shit! I was, until you put it like that!
I'd been trying not to think about it that way. And, to be totally honest, I never thought the fellas would actually make it happen! (Oh me of little faith!)
I have my reasons. See, last spring Daddy staked the tent out in the yard intending to camp out with the boys. He never made it happen. After a week or so it ended up getting rained on and being blown down. The weather was temperamental for weeks after that, and it took ages to dry out - especially as Daddy kept missing his 'dry' window to pack it up.
I still don't think he ever packed it up properly. It's probably stuffed in black bin liners rotting and moldy, taking up way more room in the boot than it needs to.
They're leaving tomorrow afternoon, when Daddy gets home from work. That's
I'm not one of those wives that can't wait for their fella to f**k off and play poker. In fact, I pretty much hate it when he's away from home.
There are a two fundamental reasons why.
1. I'm a big scaredy cat and I'm terrified some crazy psycho in a scream mask will crash through my porch doors and torture me to death while Daddy is off having a lark. I won't even answer the phone so the fucker can't toy with me.
2. I'm a SAHM and other than a few phone calls, play dates and FB chat, I speak only to my children, who are all < 3 years, and to myself (I'm getting to know myself much better.) By the time Friday comes around I'm gagging for some company.
So it's not because I'm such a clingy soppy besotted bride that I can't survive one single evening without him...
Oh, alright who am I kidding? It sucks being apart. I won't just miss a man about the house or the company or his children. I will miss him.
Even after 9 years we still spend most of our time living in each other's pockets. We don't know how to be apart - even for a little while. Shit - we can't even go to bed without the other. It'll probably do us both the world of good to miss each other for one night (dammit - he better miss me!)
Geez, what am I like? So many of my Mommy friends go weeks at a time without having their hubs at home! I'm such a loser. My heart goes out to all those single moms out there. That must really suck.
He's taking both the boys with him; our 3 year old and 20 month old. I've only ever parted from my little lads overnight once before. It was 3 months ago, when Momma was in hospital giving birth to baby girl, and that was a tough 12 hours or so.
This time they'll be away for over 16 hours - and I'm a little FREAKED out - I don't mind admitting it to you. At least their daddy will be with them this time.
I haven't admitted this to the hubs -yet. I'm desperately trying to keep my mouth shut (and this blog unpublished) until after he's back home on Saturday. I don't want to be a killjoy - well, part of me might want to but I'm not going to!
I've pulled up my big girl pants and I'm trying to get a grip on all my irrational fears about what can go wrong camping. Here's what my brain keeps coming up with (in order of most likely to least likely):
Child A stabbing child B with the s'mores skewer
Child A stabbing himself with the s'mores skewer
Child A and/or B scalding themselves with hot coco
Child A and/or B falling into fire.
Child A and/or B sleepwalking out of tent and disappearing into the night.
Child A and/or B waking up with a snake in their sleeping bag
Mountain Lion attacking child A and/or B
Jason or Freddy or a Texan chainsaw massacre dude being there.
I know. I'm some kind a crazy.
I desperately want to interfere and scupper his 'hot' dinner plans and ban them from drinking a solitary beer or lighting a fire. You know, all that controlling crap that's gotten my kicked off the camping guest list in the first place!
But it's not solely my concern for the kids' safety that's got me sulking.
I want to be there too. I want to see my boys' happy and excited faces glowing over the campfire for the first time. I want to sing silly campfire songs and toast marshmallows. I want to hear their squeals of delight or frustration when that sweet sticky goo inevitably falls into the flames. I want to bounce and wrestle with them on the blow up mattresses and shine torches under the sleeping blankets, telling 'scary' stories.
But I'm missing out on all of that. And that's why I'm sulking.
I'm so excited for my little guys - and so utterly envious of Daddy. I'm not bitter (much). I don't want to sabotage their fun (honest). I've even suggested they take their toy flashlights, and a kite, and a Frisbee, and a soccer ball - see I'm being a good sport about it.
The whole family couldn't really go in any case. It wouldn't be much fun for our three month old. But the boys are gonna have a blast and they shouldn't have to miss out on camping until baby sister is big enough to tag along.
Although once she is big enough, I may have to kybosh this boys only rule! Ha - and by that time I'll get over myself, and I'll happily opt out and sod off for a spa weekend or something!
Poor Daddy has to put up with this every day of the week. I'm not talking about me. I meant the missing out on stuff. Just the simple every day stuff that has me laughing and blogging and phoning Daddy at work - or Faraway Nana - so that I can share yet another fabulous memory.
It's his turn to get a little back. I guess 16 hours or so isn't much compared to 40 hours EVERY week... 40 weeks a year.... for the past three years....
40 (hours) * 40 (weeks) * 3 (years) = 4800 hours.
Well, damn. That's a lot to miss out on.
It's a good job I wrote this blog tonight. I was in danger of being a super whiny-ass selfish bitch on over-drive there for a minute.
Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to stop sulking, and keep my big mouth shut. And tomorrow I think I'll bake the boys a batch of pumpkin cookies to take with them camping.
Tomorrow night I can take a leisurely bath or read, or watch TV, or blog, or even go Xmas shopping! There's a million and one ways I could take advantage of the relatively free time I'll have on my hands without the boys around.
I'm not sure I'll do any of those things though.
My guess is I'll tidy the house, then bring the big dogs inside (without fear of them decking a toddler) so they can tear apart any psychotic intruder, go to bed really early and try to think of a magical way to spend the rest of the weekend - all of us. Together.
(Did anyone else just throw up in their mouth?)