Carl went back to work today, so I had my first taste of solo parenting with two. So much less drama than I anticipated last night when I was moping around the house. I really hate the hormone mythology that gets tossed around ALL THE TIME with women, but last night was one of the few times in my life when I genuinely felt there was some chicanery going on with my emotions.
I mean, I have always been aware that having two children meant I would be parenting two children solo at times. That does not seem like a ground-breaking truth. But for some reason it felt like the end of all good things, and I wasn’t sure how we would all manage.
Turns out: just fine.
Oliver napped contentedly through the laundry folding session, the dance party, the walk to the park, and the ball-kicking in the back yard. Their naps overlapped by 45 minutes, so I took a short one too…
And then I ran out of ideas, so we camped out on the couch until it was time to put in the frozen lasagna my friend made for us and pick up the house a bit before the evening routine started. It wasn’t the most brilliant piece of parenting ever, but everybody was happy, nobody got hurt, and we all got enough to eat. Plus I got to hang out with these cute people.
Works for me.