My husband gets up early because he is a productive human. I, on the other hand, will lay in bed until my alarm clock goes off, even if I’ve been awake for three hours. It feels like a waste if I don’t use up every minute of sedentary time available to me, because you know, my sales job is so physically strenuous. Meanwhile, Andy lifts entire walls over his head while standing on stilts (and balancing a ball on his nose and swallowing a flaming sword) and he can just pull an Elf, “I got a full 40 minutes of sleep!” Desk jobs are hard work, people.
So Andy’s awake, doing all the things, and my mom thoughts start. For those of you who aren’t familiar, these are the strange things mothers worry about and fathers don’t. Mom thoughts often strike at 4am like a bolt of lighting, “When is 3K enrollment?!?” “Did I put that bill in the mail?!?” “Is Caroline’s winter coat too small?!?” The soundtrack to these thoughts is usually Andy snoring away in perfect slumber, while I rack my brain, trying to remember every detail of what I was supposed to accomplish in the last 72 hours. Usually I just internalize these worries and stew on them until some shitty Netflix crime show lulls me to sleep. Luckily for Andy, today he was awake to share in my anxiety. As he leaned over to kiss me goodbye, I blurted out this train of nonsense:
“Do you know where our sleeping bags are?”
“Can you check this boob for me? It hurts like hell. Is there a lump?”
“Do you think we should buy a double stroller?”
And this, folks, is what it’s like to be married to me.
P.S. I still have not found the sleeping bags, the cause of my injury was deemed to be a restless-legged toddler and I Craigslisted a duallie the next day. Not totally unproductive.