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Part-time mama’s girl

Part-time mama’s girl

She is 4 months old, officially, and along with graduating to size two diapers and serious mastery of tummy time, she’s become something of a mama’s girl. Sometimes. I’m never sure when. It makes me feel like a super special snowflake, except when it’s a complete pain in the rear. Because, you know, I have stuff...

IMG_1099She is 4 months old, officially, and along with graduating to size two diapers and serious mastery of tummy time, she’s become something of a mama’s girl. Sometimes. I’m never sure when. It makes me feel like a super special snowflake, except when it’s a complete pain in the rear.
Because, you know, I have stuff to do. I can’t always bring along my little sidekick, and I’m never sure if that’s going to be a huge issue for her (and her poor old daddy). See how things can get a little tricky?
Twice a week I teach kickboxing. I’m gone, literally, an hour and 15 minutes, 90 minutes tops—and I never know what’s waiting at home. On the bummer days, I’ll race home and almost mow down my husband because he’s waiting for me just inside the door. He doesn’t say much, just gives me a long-suffering look and hands off our daughter, who’s doing that lip quiver and shaky breath thing that tells me she’s been howling for a good 20 minutes (at least). This is always confirmed by her siblings, who look at me solemnly and announce, “She freaked out the whole time you were gone!”
It’s not because she’s hungry or tired—because he can deal with those things. This is his fourth child; he’s a pro at the dab hand with a bottle and the ol’ walk till they drop move. It’s just that for whatever reason, she wants me, and I’m not there. But here’s the thing—sometimes she’s totally fine without me! I walk in, and there’s super dad holding a smiling baby, everyone is fed and fresh from their bath, and dinner for me is still warm in the oven. Oh, and the laundry is folded and the kids’ homework is all done and all the toys are put away and—and how the hell does he manage this in under an hour and a half? Seriously, how is that even possible? I’m so impressed (and kind of annoyed) that he makes it look so freaking easy.
So because I know it can go either way, I just hope for the best. I may come home to a howling baby girl. Or I may come home to a house full of sleeping kids, carne asada, fresh margaritas and my charming husband. Because that happened once, and I’d love for it to happen again.

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