Girls’ Week

Our main man was away in California on business last week, so Reese, Miles and I were left to hold down the fort.

It was only the second time Andrew has traveled for more than one night since Reese was born and despite the fact that she is now running around, it seemed to be a little bit easier this time around than it was five months ago.

Four whole nights to myself (once Reese was in bed) meant lots of “me time.” I used this time wisely, laying on the couch watching trashy reality tv that Andrew does not tolerate. I caught up on Real Housewives, Teen Mom and the Bachelor and was even introduced to the embarrassingly addicting world of “Married to a Jonas” (I love you Danielle; don’t listen to the haters.) It also meant doing all the chores I normally do PLUS the boy chores (shoveling snow, taking out the trash, etc.) It was only 4 days but it reinforced my belief that single moms are not to be messed with. Working all day and then coming home to take care of a one year-old solo is no joke.

Without Andrew, even our nightly ritual of walking the dog turned into a major production, and it ended up taking me almost a half an hour to get the three of us out of the house. Getting Reese bundled up, Miles leashed and back-packed (more on this later; but yes, our dog wears a backpack), the stroller out the door and down the steps, and locking up, all while holding a 24 lb toddler and trying to avoid tripping over a 50 lb dog was comedic. The fact that we live on a very busy street (right at an intersection to be exact) means that there is always a live audience of people in their cars watching/judging as I awkwardly toss the stroller down the stairs and try to keep Miles from running out the gate while I strap Reese in. Never far from my mind is the fact that I know if I was in those cars, I would be laughing at me.

Come Thursday evening, the three of us were looking forward to having Dada back.

When we heard Andrew’s car pulling in the driveway, I brought Reese into the kitchen and she stood against the door peering out the window; hair still wet from her bath and her feet covered in fleece pajamas. She bounced up and down when she heard his feet on the deck stairs and when he appeared in the doorway she began her dance of joy (this consists of rapid arm flapping, heavy breathing, more bouncing up and down, and sometimes, ironically enough, ends with a slap to the face.)

Despite the potential slap, it really is the best kind of greeting after days away.

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