I Am Woman, Hear Me Whimper

Last night my husband had to work late. Here’s how I spent my evening, and why I would never make it as a single mother:

• Spend 50 minutes fighting my way home through 24 miles of traffic. (Where are all you people going? Where? And why now?)
• Retrieve mail. Delighted to see pile of shiny new catalogs and only one bill.
• Enter home. Greet baby and mother-in-law. Begin dinner (chicken parmigiana from scratch, thank you very much).
• Strip off jewelry and sweater. Prepare baby’s bath. Bathe, dry, lotion and dress baby in clean jammies.
• Finish making dinner while mother-in-law feeds and entertains baby.
• Shovel forkfuls of food in mouth so can relieve mother-in-law of baby-care duties.
• Walk/bounce/sway/rock baby to sleep.
• Hold baby for hour and a half until she stops flailing her arms about and alternately spitting out/wanting me to replace her pacifier.
• Creep up stairs, put baby in crib, turn on monitor and noise machine (tired of “Ocean” so change to “Rain”).
• Change into pajamas, take monitor downstairs.
• Call aging German shepherd up from basement. Feed said German shepherd.
• Empty dishwasher, load dishwasher, start dishwasher, clean kitchen.
• Go to basement to retrieve dry clothes from dryer and transfer wet clothes from washer to dryer.
• Carry pile of clean, dry clothes up stairs in one hand and dog’s water bowl in the other.
• Trip on stairs and spill dog’s water all over clean clothes.
• Throw clothes on basement floor, retrieve empty water bowl, begin crying.
• Take dog outside on leash, as we have no fence and neighbors allow insane cocker spaniel to roam free. Wait five minutes in pajamas in 30-degree weather for dog to relieve himself. Bring dog back inside.
• Make enough baby bottles to get us through until morning, as rest of bottles are still in dishwasher.
• Eat 1/3 of package of vanilla sandwich cream cookies while watching “The Sopranos.” Continue crying.
• Gather shiny new catalogs (Restoration Hardware, Pottery Barn and Crate & Barrel all in one day!), discarded jewelry, baby monitor and dog and head upstairs. Mostly stop crying.
• Brush teeth, floss, wash face and apply no less than 4 facial products promising various age-defying/wrinkle-fighting/acne-eliminating/skin-brightening effects.
• Lay on bedroom floor in attempt at practicing relaxing yoga poses. Notice water stains on ceiling near skylight. Convinced house is aging faster than I am.
• Crawl in bed with stack of shiny new catalogs. Begin flipping through Restoration Hardware offerings. Feel lust for pretty things will never own. Glance at own hand-me-down, mismatched bedroom furniture in disgust.
• Hear baby making grunting noises through monitor. Put on sweatshirt and slippers. Wait two minutes to make sure baby is actually awake.
• Gather baby, blanket and pacifier from crib. Head downstairs as husband is walking in front door. Because I really know how to give my man heartfelt “welcome home,” start crying again.
• Turn “The Sopranos” back on. Heat bottle. Change baby’s diaper. Talk nonsense to baby while she flashes huge, gummy smile.
• Feed baby. Notice dark floatie in bottle. Freak out and hand bottle to husband, who determines floatie is a piece of lettuce that got stuck inside bottle in dishwasher.
• Heat second bottle. Feed baby.
• Refuse husband’s kind offer to take over. (Can handle this. Can handle this, damn it!)
• Walk/bounce/sway/rock baby to sleep. Continue crying, but quietly now, as baby sleeping.
• Creep up stairs, lay baby in crib.
• Collapse into own bed. Fall asleep before can start crying again.