My husband did the most generous and lovely thing a man can do last night. He asked me to take a bath. Ok, dirty minded perverts... not with him. Even better... all alone. He sent me to my room to take a bubble bath after Will and Tabbi went to bed. Granted, he sent me away for totally selfish reasons; he was watching Heroes and I was on the phone and my talking was distracting him. But I don't care what the motivation was. I was being dismissed to read my book and soak in a hot tub filled with wonderful Victoria's Secret bubble bath (thanks, Amie!!!). After five minutes, I couldn't help but think that life was back to normal. The exhaustion from the new baby is over (he has even slept through the night four times...not consecutively, but four times nonetheless), and things had settled back into a routine that allowed for a little R&R for mommy. I almost laughed at how worried I was when I found out I was pregnant with Jack. I cried when the stick said "PREGNANT" and they weren't tears of joy. They were tears of "Oh God, I can barely handle the two kids I've got." But, as I inhaled the bubble bath's calming scent and cracked open my book of girly fluff, I realized that all that panic was for nothing. My life is full of family and peace at the same time.
Then Mark knocked.
Will and Jack were screaming in tandem and Mark was at a loss. Turns out that Will was in his crib screaming because he had thrown up all over his sheets and himself. Jack was screaming for food and every nipple we own was in the dishwasher being cleaned and sanitized. So, my peace and quiet was over. All five minutes of it. Instead of immersion into soothing bubble heaven, I was immersed in puke and dried formula. Is this heaven? No... its parenthood.