I just needed ten minutes. We had finished up dinner, and I needed to get the dishes in the washer without worrying about my toddler playing with knives. He took her outside to play. She ran through the yard while he started cleaning up the mulch in our landscaping.
I took a second to be thankful. My husband is so good to help out when I need him. He helps me clean toilets and give baths, and "OMG SEAN!!!!! What is in her hand?!?" I look outside through my kitchen window and she is slinging a long, limber object around in the air.
"IS THAT A SNAKE?!?!" I yell down at him. He runs toward her. Our worst nightmare had come true. This is what we get for moving our family to the country. I think about dialing 911.
He finally caught up with her, and gasped. “What?! What is that?!?!” I yell frantically, running down the steps to the yard.
"Emily, you don't want to know." My heart sinks further down.
"It's a turd," he says, sheepishly walking her back to the house. She had been playing with our beloved dog Henry's semi-solidified poo.
He laughed it off, but I didn't think it was funny.
She came inside and we washed her hands, scooping the crap out of her fingernails with our own-- not our most glamorous moment of parenting, that's for sure. But as soon as I thought about getting mad at him for letting our toddler out of his sight, I slowed down. We had come a long way.
When our baby was only an infant, I figured out quickly I was destined to be a helicopter mom. I stayed frustrated with my husband's help. It's not that he never offered, he did offer. I would let him take charge of nap time for five minutes only to sweep right back in and do it myself. I couldn't delegate tasks. When things weren't done just exactly as I would do them, yep, that was my cue to intervene.
And then I got really tired. And so grouchy. When you try to do everything your way, that's what happens. Not only that, I knew I was robbing my husband of that special bonding time with our little girl. I had to stop sweating the small stuff, and finally let my husband be a parent, my way or his. When you have a partner willing to take the reigns for a little bit, you have to let him. I needed to let him.
Sitting on the couch that night, I reminded myself once again of all these truths I had learned not so long ago. Today we had suffered a slight setback. You just can’t start a yard project and expect your toddler not to wonder away. But I’m thankful for a man who will take my child off my hands when I need to work/sleep/relax/cry. Even if it means mismatched pajamas, a messy face after dinner, or the occasional game of Lets Play with Poo.