He’s home, he’s home!  Praise God Almighty, daddy is HOME!  Shane has been in Miami for a business trip these past few days and I was nothing short of elated to hear the squeak of the front door opening last night at 11 pm.  Amazingly, this was my first time really flying solo with Jules – Shane has only spent a couple of nights away from us, back when she was a newborn, and my parents were visiting then and able to provide backup while he was gone.  I know there are lots of people that do the bulk of their parenting alone, and I know that a 1:1 parent to kid ratio ain’t too shabby, but still, it was tough!

Jules came down with a cold about a week ago and hasn’t been able to shake her nighttime cough – she was particularly restless on Sunday and Monday nights, up every two hours coughing and tossing and turning.  I spent most of those nights laying on the floor next to her crib, finding that every time I returned to my bed, she’d start crying again just as I’d drift off to sleep.  Usually Shane and I take turns getting up with her on nights such as these, but my moans of “I’m so tiiiiiired” went unheard – it was all on me.  Thankfully, by Tuesday night Jules seemed to back to normal and slept like a log – I was stunned to open my eyes at 6:40 yesterday morning and find that I’d overslept, as I had assumed that the sound of coughing or crying would wake me up long before then.  I heard Juliette babbling in her crib around 7:00 as I was getting ready, thinking that if she and I really hustled, we could still actually get out the door on time.  I walked into her room, ready to gush my effusive thanks for the good night’s sleep, but was stopped short when I saw blood all over her face.  And her hands, and her arms, and her sheets, and her crib rails.  She’d gotten a bloody nose and had smeared red sticky goo everywhere.  She was fine, unfazed by the fact that her crib looked like a veritable crime scene, but I had quite a bit of clean up to do, rushing to wipe her down and get her bedding into the washing machine.  Finally, just as I was grabbing our shoes and ushering us out the door, thanking Juliette for waiting so quietly as I gathered our things, I got a whiff of that unmistakable poo-smell.  I should know by now with this child – if she’s that quiet, she’s either broken into the snack cupboard and is secretly wolfing down animal crackers, or she’s working on filling her diaper to capacity.  Suffice to say, I was rather late to work that day.

Sleeplessness and bloody noses aside, Juliette and I got along pretty splendidly – she was obedient and cheerful and usually helpful.  Daycare drop-off/pick-up, dinnertime, and bedtime all off without a hitch.  I felt pretty good about how smoothly we navigated our daily routine…and yet, with each step, Shane’s absence felt so apparent.  We missed him.  When I picked up Juliette from daycare each day, she ran to my arms per usual, but only let me hold her for a second before turning to the door and expectantly asking, “Daddy?  Daddy?  Daddy?”  I didn’t have anyone to recap the day’s highs and lows with, to share in my joy over the new word Juliette learned or to feel my anxiety over her incessant coughing.  We’re so, so glad dad’s back.  Juliette woke up from her nap today after only 40 minutes of sleep, wailing and clearly still tired, but she refused my offers to rock her or read to her or get her a cup of milk.  Shane swooped in just as I was getting desperate and she reached out to him, quieting and laying her head on his shoulder the minute he picked her up.  They spent the next hour and a half snuggled up like this – peas and carrots, these two.

20150611 naptime sm

On a separate, unrelated note, today is also our dating anniversary – sixteen years ago, my handsome fella picked me up in his electric blue Dodge Neon and took me to the movies to see Notting Hill.  If only we’d known then all that laid ahead of us - I might not have made him wait so long for that first kiss.  😉