Momnesia

The Pacifier: Day Two

Much to my delight, my husband got stuck with baby duty (and doody, hee!) the second day of our anti-pacifier campaign. Mondays are my late days (Tuesdays are his) and it just so happened that it fell this way.

I came home at 9 p.m. fully expecting Emmie to be in full-on hissy fit mode. I pictured my husband frantically trying to quiet her, when like Glenda the Good Witch I swoop in and rescue them both. I pulled up, took a deep breath, and swept into the living room like an opera singer.

Only the dog - and silence - greeted me.

Scott came in from the kitchen.
"Hey, honey. How was your day?"
"Fine... long... where's the baby?"
"Asleep."
"What do you mean 'asleep?'" I eyed him suspiciously.
"As in 'in her bed.' Asleep."
"She's not crying?"
"No."

What was wrong here? Ah-ha! He must have found an errant pacifier around the house. We were bound to stumble across one eventually.

"You found a chupo!" I exclaimed, narrowing my eyes.
"No. She asked about her chupo once when I picked her up, and hasn't asked since. She got all of the smiles on her responsibility chart, brushed her teeth and everything, and went right to sleep."
"Oh... well, good work, honey!" I feign delight.

In truth, sometimes I want him to be an incompetent. Every once in a while, I'd like a little helplessness on his part when it comes to parenting. He never is. I couldn't ask for a better partner with whom to raise Emerson. Damn him and his awesomeness.

Oh, well. I can always complain about the laundry.