Used to be I only got anxious the evening before my "on" days with the kids; the evening before a day care day, I would feel an incredible sense of relief after I had packed and labeled that last snack--apart from getting them to school the next morning, I had a whole entire day of not being a parent to look forward to.
But now those evenings are consumed by dread as well. I'm just as fearful of the freedom as I am of being shackled to three needy, high-energy creatures. I'm afraid to work on an article I'm supposed to be working on, afraid to work on a children's book I have an idea for, afraid to do housework, pay bills, get exercise, buy groceries, take pictures.
I look at my husband going about his business and I am amazed. He gets up and he faces the day. Everything is manageable, even the challenges. Right now he is snoring beside me, satisfied by what he accomplished, not bothered by what he didn't get to, not worried about what tomorrow has in store.
Oh, wait, he just woke up.
"Did I fall asleep?" he said.
I said, "Well, you were snoring. Does that count?"
Then he said, "What are you writing about?"
"My constant state of dread," I said.
He said, "Maybe you could lock it out of your life with a dreadlock."
Which is not funny at all. But I'm kind of glad about that because if there's one thing I hate, it's when he ruins my bad moods by saying something hilarious.
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