Husband took Z to his parents’ house yesterday. This was my very first night sleeping in bed–by myself–in eighteen months. I know, weird. I love Husband, and I love Z, but I also love solitude, and that’s been so, so rare since Z was born. She’s fabulous, she’s so funny and outgoing. She’s also awake. A lot. Never stops moving. Blocks and books are the only things that can get her to sit still–that, and high-chair prison (her sentence while I shower in the mornings).
So while I miss her (and Husband too), I have absolutely loved my weekend of alone-time. I read, and wrote, and read some more. I watched “Saturday Night Fever,” which was a mistake except for the short part where Travolta actually dances well (in addition to my “don’t kill the dog/cat” rule of storytelling, I also believe rape scenes should be skipped over).
It’s sad and happy at the same time to imagine the thundering of little feet on the floors when she comes home.