So when I say a week, I actually mean five days. Four sleeps. It still sucks though.
I get a bit cross and feel like I should have a word with myself when I think of my friends Bec, who's Mr is a policeman who often has to up & go at the drop of a hat, or Claire, who is a sailor's wife & has to deal with her Popeye being at sea for weeks if not months on end - I'm only having to do four nights for crying out loud - man up leslieanne!!
I'm fine with the solo-parenting bit - sure, I'll probably be half dead by the end of the week, but I'll manage.
The thing that does worry me a bit, is that I am not good at being on my own.
Don't get me wrong, a few hours of 'me time', involving a giant latte & a bit of retail therapy, super, am all over that - but night times? I have no idea what to do.
In the 14 years Darren & I have been together, we've spent less than a handful of nights apart - not because we're mental, just because there's been no reason. We do basically everything together, because we just plain like eachother's company. I know it's a god awful cliche, but it's true: My man, is also my best friend. And I miss him damnit :(
Which is ridiculous, given that it's just gone 3 o'clock, and if he were at work as normal, he'd still be there now, but it's the whole knowing that he's not going to walk through the door at 6pm, looking to be fed. Or be there to use as a human pillow when I go to sleep. Or be sat on the sofa to listen to my gibberish and make me cups of tea after Dylan's gone to bed.
That's going to be the worst bit I reckon - four evenings of talking to the dog. She's super cute, but not much of a conversationalist.
Ah well, perhaps I'll use the time to actually get some work done & Kooky Boutique might magically get updated.
That, or there will be a lot of Pinterest time in my future.
Roll on Saturday night.
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