First weekend alone

So this past weekend, I did something I never thought I could do. Something that has been terrifying me for some time now. And something that I pretended wouldn’t bother me one bit. I watched Abby all by myself for an entire weekend.

Let me back up for a minute. The last time I was completely alone with Abby for an extended period of time was maternity leave. While I did love my time with her, I also loved the moment when John would walk in the door to give me a much needed break. A break that did not involve being the sole person in charge of feeding, diapers, and rocking a newborn to sleep. So, when John found out about a bachelor party that would be a weekend away, I panicked inside. I almost begged him not to go. But another part of me kept telling me it wasn’t a big deal. And that I was being irrational. And the constant battle between the two was just too exhausting.

John left Friday morning and didn’t return until Sunday evening. The first night, I barely slept. Basically, the world decided that my first night should include every possible obstacle as, I assume, a cruel joke. You see, on top of it being my first weekend alone with Abby, she also got her very first tooth as well as a cold and diaper rash. To say she was miserable was an understatement. She had trouble falling and staying asleep. She wasn’t interested in eating food (just wanted her bottle). And she was able to find so many random objects to stick in her mouth – tissues, dog toys, the remote. And screamed louder and louder each time I pried them away from her little (but crazy strong) hands. Friday night, she finally fell asleep at 9:30 pm, after cries and bottles and diaper changes. Then at 10 pm, I dropped an ENTIRE mug of hot chocolate all over the kitchen floor and hallway. I’m a hot chocolate junkie, so I was pretty upset by the sight of my perfect mug of chocolatey goodness all over the floor and cabinets. After an hour of scrubbing and holding the dog back from “attempting to help clean”, I gave up on relaxing and went to bed. At midnight, someone’s diaper exploded. (No, not mine) There I was, cleaning a crib, a child, and clothes all by nightlight, in hopes that she would not enter her “fully awake stage.” Finally, I sat down and attempted to rock her to sleep. And just as she was falling asleep and I was so close to my fantasy of my own bed, my animals had to crush every hope. Apparently, my pup decided it was time to run upstairs and chase the kitty – in the hallway, in Abby’s room, in the bathroom, everywhere. And, of course this was followed by nonsense barking at the empty closet as she insisted the kitty was hiding in there. No, she was hiding next to the chair I was sitting in, on the other side of the room. After all of this, Abby finally went back down at 2:30 am. And then woke up screaming just two hours later. I’m pretty sure I only survived Saturday due to the intense amount of caffeine I ingested.

Night two was a bit better – while Abby woke every 2-3 hours just wanting cuddles, it lacked poop explosions and animals trying to kill one-another. So, I call that a win. And Sunday, John was delayed getting back and Abby was cranky. I finally gave in to not accomplishing anything. Laundry laid half-folded in the living room, dishes were piling in the sink, our pantry was empty, and the kitchen floor was still slightly sticky from that missed hot chocolate. But, I gave in, and sat outside with Abby and avoided doing anything else. She was in much better spirits once I gave up going to the grocery store or running a single errand. And, smiled wide once John arrived home.

I’m actually incredibly proud of myself for surviving. It was a very difficult weekend for me. And I was terrified going into it. I assumed everything would go wrong, nothing would get accomplished, and I end up crying in a corner (or packing a bag and skipping town). For the most part, everything did go wrong. Abby was sick and cranky. I accomplished zero tasks (including washing necessary items for daycare – sorry daycare!). But, I survived. And just knowing that I CAN do it, makes me feel more like a mom. I’m ready and able to survive nights and weekends completely alone. Though, I’m so happy John is home, if only so I can have a spare moment to pour myself a glass of wine.