Day XII

Yesterday I was a bad mom.

After five hours at school, I was home with Jack for only one hour before leaving him with a sitter.

At least I fed him dinner before I left, right? Well… actually… she fed him dinner while I put on make-up.

At least Husband had spent the first five hours of the day with him, right? No, really that just relieves him of any guilt.

At least he stays up past 10 p.m. so I was home in time to put him to bed, right? Again, no. Who would have guessed the kid would fall asleep by 10 p.m.? When does that ever happen?

I felt guilty the whole time I was out. I didn’t really enjoy the Peanut Barrel tuna melt – my otherwise favorite sandwich of all time. Even our nanny – who was at the bar to watch the game with the boys – was surprised I had left him.

I can’t remember the last time I have been out on a weeknight. It has literally been almost two years. When I went back to work full-time I made a pledge to myself that I wouldn’t go out after not seeing the baby all day.

Last night was an exception.

A good friend is moving to California and who knows when he’ll return to beautiful mid-Michigan. I didn’t want to miss his last night out. I figured someday when Jack was older he would understand. He would have wanted me to go and visit and watch the first half of the game. I am fairly certain when he’s a young father, he’ll do the same. Everyone who meets him says he’ll someday have a big social life.

And it was the guy’s last night in town!! He’s been my friend since 1997!!

Honestly, I would have considered bringing the baby to the Peanut Barrel but it’s just so darned smokey. Jackie loves to be out. He loves to stare at people and flirt with the waitresses. But my son’s pink baby lungs will not go near a place that is actually covered in nicotine tar. If we had eaten dinner on the patio I would have considered bringing him but that idea was vetoed after the men decided they needed good positioning in the bar for the game that didn’t even start until three hours after we first arrived.

I left at the half, after calling the sitter two times, and the Pistons were down. I said my goodbyes to the table and promised our LA-bound buddy a Thursday night visit with Jackie so we could give him a proper send-off.

That is unless the Pistons won, Husband realized. Then he’d have to come back for the game. If they won, they’d have to sit at the lucky table to send the proper vibes to the Wallaces, Chauncey and Tey-Tey. He’d never forgive himself if they lost and he hadn’t watched it properly. It would be their faults. And they’d have to sit in the exact same table… eat the same dinners… drink the same number of drinks… wear the same clothes… repeat all the same conversations… listen to the same songs on the jukeboxes…

Needless to say, I left the bar confident the power of Eva Longoria would overshadow the mighty Pistons and we’d finally be done with the NBA in 2005.

I got home to find the Boo curled in a ball in his little firefighter jammies sleeping on the couch and sucking on his index finger. His hair was curly with sweat. Guilt washed over me. He looked like he had been trying to wait for me and exhaustion overcame him. So, so sad.

I quickly scooped him up and squeezed him. I tip-toed up the stairs, put him in his crib stomach down (a trick from Dad) and covered him up with a very light blanket. I held my breath and waited for him to wake up – half hoping he would only because then I could make up for the hours lost. Nothing. I panicked slightly, checked for breathing, and walked back downstairs.

Pistons pulled it out… basically making the night a waste. LA-man will be out again in E.L. before hitting the Oregon Trail with his slow but steady oxen.

I, however, will not -- not without my boy.