Every week I am a single Mom. CB travels for his job, usually three days a week, which is almost tolerable. But sometimes he’s gone for 6 days, and that feels like a lot when you have no help.

The moms in my neighborhood all have help. If they don’t have a full time nanny then they have an au pair. Or a sitter who comes during the day to spell them. If they are not paying for help then they have a fabulous mother who lives next door who arrives daily to watch the kids, cook their meals, clean up, and leave the smell of fresh chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. Cry baby, cry baby. I actually know two truly single mothers, who have done the whole thing by themselves, and they are my heroes!

I never really know when a killer week is coming. I think CB hopes I won’t figure it out until he’s already gone. It’s not until he’s out the door when I say “so when are you coming back? (Midnight Wednesday) “and when are you leaving again?” (Thursday morning) “and when are you coming back again?” (Saturday and leaving Monday).
That’s when I get the pit in my stomach. That dreaded feeling. Ok here we go. It’s not just that I have do it all myself all day until she goes to bed, but it means I actually have to get up out of bed at 6am. That’s the hardest part, because that’s CB’s big gift to me when he’s home. He gets up with her in the morning. And I don’t function well before 7:30 unless coffee and the NYT were to be delivered to my bedside, which has never happened. Not since I fell through a skylight and my parents took care of me for 6 months. But that’s another story.

So he throws down another one of these killer weeks and I run through the options. In a panic of facing a week without adult company I start to email all my friends – let’s meet for play date, let’s meet for lunch, let’s meet for dog walks, let’s go to the mall, will you come over, please please if I pay you $100?

The truth is that when he’s gone we miss him VERY much at 6am. And then we don’t get to look forward to his coming home at 6pm. Homecoming is like this – I call to find out when he’s leaving the office, I try to get her fed before she’s too distracted. I look to the window every 3 minutes until I see that huge silver vehicle pull up in front of the house and eclipse the house across the street and then I shout “Daddy’s Home!” And it’s a BIG celebration by dog and child, lots of barking and pointing and squealing and jumping. And a relieved exhausted mother who says “here take her, feed her, clean her, and can you crack me a beer?” Beer in hand I escape to open the computer and write to you.

So when he’s gone we try to have a chock-filled day, with a play date for Mom thrown in, and then we walk the dog, and come home. I put on the crazy French songs and serve The Bees her Organic Elmo mac and cheese and veggie dinner around 5:30, and do the crazy dance around the dining room. And then give her a bath, Or not. (gasp! Don’t tell The Other Mothers but I don’t bathe her every single day). We read a few books downstairs while I chase her around with some yogurt. I might push her in the swing a few times. We go sit outside again, but she knows where her watering can is and she’s bound to get wet all over again so we come back in. We play with her toys, we read 5 books upstairs, we rock and sing and then (hopefully) she’s finally asleep. I finally get to crack that beer, watch the news, write a few paragraphs and then curl up with a book. I lie there exhausted and think: just 7 more hours until it starts all over again.