Saturday, May 3, 2008

Wrong Time for the Right Time from Chicago Moms Blog

Oh, this post is so funny that I actually cried. Whether you have one child or more than one, you know this is entirely true. I altered one word (sox, with an e) to thwart the weirdos searching for something really dirty. Otherwise, this post is entirely as written by one of the brilliantly funny Moms on The Chicago Moms Blog. Enjoy!

May 03, 2008
Wrong Time for the Right Time

The thing I miss most since becoming a parent?
Nookie.
You know....
When we first brought that baby home, melting our hearts with his huge blue eyes, it was the farthest thing on my mind.
It's 7 years later. Enough already.
He works an early day so he can spend the rest of it with us. Which means the alarm goes off at 5:45AM and I convulse with shock. Every morning. 'Cuz I'm slow that way.
I write freelance. Which means I stay up after the kid (and man) have gone to sleep, tip-tapping furiously away. Yo Yo Ma's sprightly tones drifting through the speakers.
But the funny part? I used to be THE Morning Lark. And him? The Night's Original Owl. A week or so goes by and we'll look at each other like starved ocelots desperate for some of Fuddrucker's
finest. And we'll be thwarted. For at least a couple of nights.

Here's how it goes....
7:30PM. And I wonder if dosing my kid with Benadryl when he doesn't actually have a cold is necessarily a bad thing.
7:45PM. And the kid has cottoned on to subtext. He doesn't understand it, but he's got that kid thing. You know, the ability to thwart plans he shouldn't even know about?
8:00PM. I've dropped the kid in a warm bath with that mellow lavender stuff that's supposed to guarantee a drowsy baby.
8:15PM. The kid is laughing uproariously at shapes he can mold his sudsy hair into.
8:30PM. And my sweetheart just yawned. The kid? Is a prune and more wound up than when he went INTO the bath.
8:45PM. 2 Chapters of his book, a glass of milk, and even a lullaby. I give the man what I hope is a smoldering look. He asks me if I have something stuck in my eye.
9:10PM. We tell the kid if gets out of bed ONE MORE TIME, we will tie him to it until he's 16.
9:15PM. He slipped into the bathroom announcing he's "gotta pee!"
9:25PM. I'm hammering on the bathroom door, making dire threats.
9:30PM. Sweetheart is yawning again. Kid shouts a request for a glass of water.
9:45PM. There's a thud in our son's bedroom. "I'm OK!" he yells quickly. "But could I borrow the broom for a minute?"
10:00PM. The dishes are humming their way to clean in the dishwasher. Medium has been watched. Sweetheart is sitting on the couch next to me, ready to make his signature move, when... "Did Daddy kiss me goodnight?" He stands in the doorway, looking like a little angel. I bite my lip to keep from exploding in frustration.
10:15PM. He looks me deep in the eyes, fighting another yawn. "Honey," he says. "What about tomorrow morning? I could wake you up, or..." he waggles his eyebrows.
"I have a deadline," I admit. "I'll be up for hours."
We groan, leaning into each other. Kissing and considering... maybe we still could. Hopeful kisses. Haven't-faced-reality-yet kind of kisses.
From the back of the house comes another thud. The dog comes scampering around the corner, with what I swear is a look of 'Don't blame me, the kid did it!' on her face.
"I'll kill him, then I gotta go to bed," he says, sadly. "We'll try again tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow," I agree, with a sigh.
And more hope than faith.
Original Chicago Moms Blog Post

1 comment:

tashabud said...

This is so funny and true. We can sll relate with her situation. Hopefully when the baby's a little older and ready to be left with a babysitter, she and her husband will make a date at a nice hotel nearby, eh?