I’ve picked him up from the airport. I love him, I’m so happy to see him. My body defied me.
I’m a heap of exhaustion after eight days of heat wave and parenting. It’s been over 100 degrees for the past five days, and though I’m absolutely delighted that my husband is home, it’s not primarily that I want to be with him. It’s because I cannot stand one more solitary moment of being a single parent.
I can’t break up fights, listen to music, entertain or cajole. I can’t play Rock Band, Monopoly, spoons, soccer or catch.
It’s only when I see my husband, that I realize how terribly exhausted I am, and though I’d love to hug and kiss him, what I really want to do is cry.