I was one chapter away from finishing my book. One short chapter at that. Reading it would mean missing my stop to get off the bus, and the sidewalks were too slippery to read as I walked the rest of the way home. I put the book away and promised to finish it… eventually. But first, we had to eat. And then Scott had to go to an appointment and I had to put C to bed alone.
Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem putting C to bed most of the time. Lotion. Jammies. Book. Song. Bear. Kiss. And out. But C has been going through a phase where she doesn’t want to go to bed without a fight and it often takes two of us to get her to sleep. In other words, little to no chance of finishing that book!
And to make matters worse, it was bath night. Bath night has been a Daddy-Daughter ritual since birth, for the most part. And there is no one that C loves more than her daddy. I suddenly had visions of her screaming through her bath, and never calming down until Scott came home, and me never getting to finish my book. But bath time was smooth. And bedtime was smoother.
I settled into the couch and finished my book, and rather than doing the dishes or tidying the floor littered with toys in front of me, I grabbed another book. It’s not often I have a quiet peaceful house to myself, especially without hours of work and planning. I know I didn’t accomplish much, and I know there are so many other parents who have to face bedtime alone far more often, but it was a relief to get through it without a fight.
It was just… too… easy… I almost didn’t feel I deserved a glass of wine.
(But I drank it anyway).