In the Barrel

Here is the deal. I know I can survive the long weekend as a single parent with the Little Man. I have done this before and I know I will do it again. The process, on the surface, is an easy one. I merely have to keep Little Man alive for 3 nights and 3 days until Wifey gets back from her weekend long workshop. The problem is that I am in the barrel right now.

In the bar·rel (in thuh ba’ruhl): n, the state of being the most wanted parent for all mundane activities.

Yep, I am in the barrel. If Little Man wants some juice, Little Man wants papa to get him the juice. If Little Man needs to poop, Little Man wants Papa to wipe his butt. If Little Man wants “chickies,” he wants them lovingly prepared by yours truly. I am most definitely in the barrel! SRH = “In the barrel”

Please don’t take this as boasting, for Wifey is not even remotely jealous of my being in the barrel. In fact she finds it pretty funny. She has been in the barrel before. She knows what it entails. She also knows that, God willing, she will be in the barrel again at some point in the future. Her barrel-time was lucky enough to be when Little Man was not into soo many things that were sandboxy. She was unlucky enough to be in the barrel when she was still breastfeeding. If we are keeping score, I guess I am still winning. While I have to watch everything Little Man does in the sandbox and comment positively on all of his minor sandboxish feats, I do not have to deal with the boy as a parasite leaching all nutrients from my body. I try to suffer in silence, but it turns out that I am a whiner, so silence eludes you during my torment. Ergo my whining about the impending weekend to you, my dear dear Internet aquaintances.

This weekend shall entail many a trip to the kitchen to get juice. For Little Man does enjoy his juice. Basically, I expect Little Man to be all up in my grill all weekend long. All. Weekend. Long. Me and Little Man with no space between us, for 3 full days.

Mimma will spell me for a bit, but she cannot keep him from burrowing under me whilst we sleep. Little Man tends to burrow. He is definitely his mother’s child in that way. She is all contacty and burrowy while she sleeps as well. I am more of the don’t touch me whilst I am sleeping kind of sleeper. Anyway… back to the whine at hand. I will have minimal independent time this weekend and I guess that is just how it is supposed to be.

To Recap:
Wifey drops Little man off at pre-school tomorrow and then doesn’t see him until Sunday afternoon
I think I will weep at her return
I am sure Little Man will be happy to see her as well
Wish me luck blogosphere
I am going to need it
More to the Increasingly Random Alphabet of SRH tomorrow