I’m extremely spoiled by the fact that Cory rarely travels overnight. It’s never been apart of his job description, so if he is traveling, it’s usually for fun and I’m along for the ride. This is why I don’t have much of a problem signing on for the yearly golf trip that he takes with his dad and brother. It always seems like three days, no big deal! but then the time comes and I’m like wait, why is this happening?
I’ll fully admit that I’m not the best version of myself when I have to solo parent for several days on end. In my defense, I start out strong, hopeful even; but by the third full day, I’m frustrated by all the little things and I turn on the TV right after naptime.
But let’s talk about the starting out strong part.
Cory left the house around 4:30am on Saturday, and I wanted my day with Jack to be FUN. I woke up in a good mood, confident that I wouldn’t be a broken shell of myself by bedtime on Monday night.
Jack and I went to the zoo on Saturday morning. I was a fun mom and let him run around and touch the filthy disgusting animals without really worrying about it. I even broke my Cardinal rule and fed the giraffes (GROSS.) That afternoon, I meal planned during naptime and conquered the grocery store with him before dinner time.
By bedtime, I was tired and hungry, but still on top of my game.
Sunday morning we made it to church. People outwardly praised me, the solo pregnant woman toting a toddler to 8am service, am I let them. Never mind the fact that our attendance was significantly motivated by the hour of childcare and free coffee provided.
Even though my adrenaline was fading by naptime, I had planned for a fun-mom afternoon. I hadn’t eaten much, I was tired, and Jack was cranky after a shitty nap – but I refused to be beaten down by the constant neediness and pregnancy fatigue. It may have taken us an hour to calm down after a snack-related fiasco (he wanted goldfish, I gave him goldfish, so disaster obviously ensued…?!) but I finally wrestled him into the car seat and headed out for more fun, goddamnit.
Upon arriving to the Chesterfield Berry Farm to do fun* things like look at cows and chickens and tractors (*not fun) I unfortunately had pee. You can imagine my deep disappointment when I realized my only option was a port-a-potty. I desperately willed myself to see someone I knew, so I could avoid taking Jack out of his stroller and into the shitstall with me, but the universe didn’t respond to that call.
So I parked the stroller and headed into the Don’s John while other mothers looked at me with a combination of judgement and pity.
I don’t like to brag, but I successfully held Jack while pulling off maternity pants, SQUATTING, not peeing on myself, and pulling the pants back on. It’s pathetic what makes me feel proud and accomplished these days, but whatever. I walked out of that hell hole with Jack in a football hold like a champ.
Not ten minutes later, after mentally patting myself on the back for being able to hand anything thrown my way, I sneezed, which negated all previous back-patting for not peeing on myself.
Let’s not get into Monday. No one really needs a recap of 72 episodes of Sesame Street, do they?
*Can I just say that all single parents and military spouses have my utmost respect. How you do it, I’ll never know.