But I'm the Glue

Last weekend I did something I haven't done in more than a year. I took an All-Girls Road Trip. My partners in debauchery picked me up late Friday morning and we were off. Despite the fact that I pretty much leapt into 'Suki', our getaway machine, I began our adventure somewhat ill from a tricky little cocktail of anticipation and guilt topped with a hearty splash of anxiety. Anticipation speaks for itself. Guilt because I was leaving my husband and the Mamacita for TWO FULL DAYS. And Anxiety for Daddy and his FT Mamacita duties lasting, once more with feeling...TWO. FULL. DAYS.

Straight up, my husband is a smart man. In addition to a sweeping knowledge of and appreciation for music, a penchant for informed political debate and a freakishly unexpected talent for home improvement he also possesses a thoroughly exasperating photographic memory. Eidetic memory, he will remind me while reading this. Sure, baby, BUT CAN YOU CARE FOR A 10-MONTH OLD?!

Ten months. TEN MONTHS. That's not just the Mamacita's age but exactly how long I have been creating and yes, PERFECTING, a daily routine for our little girl. There are distinct phases to our days. Meals. Play time. Naps. More Meals. More play time. Successful completion of any given phase relies heavily on the success of previous phases. Why, it's practically a science.

COULD HE RUN THE delicately balanced SHOW?! Plagued by this question I slept maybe 3 hours the night before my departure and I was never 100% sure I would go through with it until I had folded myself into the passenger seat, locked my safety belt into place and heard the opening chords of Tom Petty's 'American Girl' blare forth from Suki's speakers as we exited the driveway.

It's not as if prior to last weekend my husband hadn't handled each and every one of the aforementioned phases, but never all of them. NEVER IN SUCCESSION. How would I prepare him for all potential variations of routine? The unpredictable whims of a pre-toddler? Would he heed the magical powers of the Oat-O's? Did he know how to pack a proper diaper bag? Would he remember the SPF 45? My god, man, NOT THE 30!

My girlfriend commented that it was a 'good sign' that the Little Mama had practically jumped out of my arms to her Daddy's when it was time for us to go. Great sign, I agreed.


Over a period of 2 days, I called home 4 times. I'd imagined more. I'd imagined calls from my husband fraught with the need for guidance. I'd imagined refusals to nap, to eat or to go down for the night. I'd imagined tears, both hers and his. I'd imagined my carefully crafted homefront fraying at the edges. Mama is the glue, after all.

Instead, I got a peaceful weekend with my best girlfriends. I got two nights of sleep the likes of which I vaguely remembered from the 2nd trimester of my pregnancy. I got to come home to a happy baby who wasn't sleep deprived or suffering from any major wounds. Okay, there were NO wounds.

In the end, the best thing I got? Knowing that not only is Mama NOT the only capable adult around here, but that Daddy is much MORE than a temporary substitute when I'm out. Truth be told, cold and hard as it is, he's an uber-competent replacement who deserves his own private time with the Mamacita so she grows up confident in Daddy's ability to take care of her. After all, he IS the Papa Pajama.


Anonymous lawboy said...

I'm only smart because I married you honey!!!

March 22, 2006 8:09 PM  

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home