Bachelorette Pad

So this is it. My first "official" all-alone-by-myself weekend. Well, with Presley, of course. Ted's five hours away in Iowa City playing a gig with an old bandmate, and I'm left to get a taste of what's to come in about 6 weeks. Holy moly. I realized last night that I've never lived alone. Like, ever. It's much creepier than I expected. I find myself needing to fill the space and the silence up with something. Anything. Not that Ted and I sit around gabbing all night. We don't really talk much. But there's definitely something different about not having another (non-toddler) presence in the house. Noises that I've become accustomed to and even comforted by are making me nervous and agitated. That weird quiet that sets in when the refrigerator stops running. The creaky roof when a gust of wind hits it. The cat eating her dry kibbles in the kitchen. They seem foreign . . . especially at night. I stayed up until 3 am watching back-to-back episodes of What Not To Wear. I could not, for the life of me, keep my eyes closed. 3 am? Hello? On a rebellious night, I MIGHT make it to 11 pm. Usually I'm dead to the world by 10:15, whether I like it or not. Despite the fact that I'm exhausted to the point of delirium, I have a feeling tonight will prove the same fate.

The day was mostly a blur. Ted took my car, and his tags expired two days ago. Yep. I've been housebound on top of going stir-crazy. Plus, I'm broke as a joke until my next payday. Even if I could leave, I couldn't afford to do anything. So I bundled Presley up and we walked. And walked. And walked. It felt like Fall today. So beautiful. Sunny, not one cloud in the sky. Crisp air, and so dry. If everything weren't so green and plump, I'd swear we were heading into November. We walked until the poor kid plopped down on the sidewalk and declared I must carry him the for rest of our neighborhood exploration. Exactly what I'd hoped would happen. Little pink cheeks and a sweaty brow, begging for a nap as long as he didn't have to walk anymore. Like a good mom, I made him walk the two blocks home. This is probably eight miles to a three-year-old. Boy, did he sleep. Nary a protest. Victory!

Somehow, I just managed to watch a full episode of Zoey 101. You know, the JamieLynn Spears show. Campy teenage utter crap. I don't even know how I wound up on that channel. But it wasn't just background fuzz. I literally. Watched. It. I think I even asked Presley to move out of the way of the TV at one point when his little head invaded my line of sight. Proof that my brain is numb from this ordeal. My sister assured me last night that it gets easier. I won't always be so painfully restless. I know that eventually I'll get used to ruling my own roost and come to love the freedom. For now, it still feels awkward to cook for two instead of three. It feels like a death has transpired, not hearing another breathing pattern in the room. I suppose in many ways, one has . . .