I attempted my first and hopefully last chance at making a ghetto coloring book complete with quadruple-folded stack of lined paper stuffed into a sandwich bag along with a crayola marker and a credit union pen. The coloring book was going along with swim trunks, baby sunscreen, and lots (two, to be exact) of clean underwear. My
baby 2-year-old was going on an overnight camping trip with his dad.
Why did I go pack-happy on extra underwear for a potty-trained toddler for just an overnighter, you ask? Because there’s shit in the woods that scare the shit outta you. Because I’m a worry wort. Because I have what’s called a mommy hunch. First, let me talk about the tears. Oh, the Mama Tears. The last time I cried when he left me was when he was gone for just a few hours. Then, I mainly cried because I felt obligated to do laundry during this rare (truly) alone time before Lanoy came. I also cried because Humnoy was big. I knew I would cry when he would be away for an entire evening but I didn’t question Gym Hottie’s impromptu decision to take a
baby toddler on a camping trip. Hot wet things rolled down my cheeks as my baby 2-year-old waved, without looking at me, on his way to the car. More hot wet things stung my eyes as I ran to the window to prolong the view of a baby all grown up so the mental picture will last until the next morning.
GH said he’d call. 10:30 pm rolls around and no word so I assumed
the wolves smelled out soft baby hair or camping bedtime works better than my tedious all-day prep. 20 minutes later, GH revealed “he wasn’t ready.” I held my quip to pin the lack of readiness on the male adult in that scenario but just listened for what happened. Being fully potty trained for the past month, Humnoy had all the accidents ever to happen. He peed through the arrival pair of Thomas the Train undies and then went on to shit through the next two pairs in which I dolefully packed because I am a mom psychic. Although I did not foresee that they would be on their way back home at 11:30 pm or Hershey stains.
Did I know in my selfish of hearts that my toddler needs me and/or our solid home routine still? Very well could. Probably felt my gloating husband would not make it through the night with a toddler? Probably. Perhaps my instinct revealed to be a self-fulfilling prophecy? Perhaps. Maybe the 2-year-old isn’t quite cut out for a full-on camping trip? Maybe. Could my 2-year-old still be my baby? Yes, always.