Not In His Job Description - Until Now

I am back from being out of town. I had to go to Myrtle Beach - on business, people, I swear. Do not take into consideration that I was there for three and a half days and attended only 3 hours of meetings. There were also dinners and lunches and networking and schmoozing. It was a difficult few days of work, I assure you. I am just exhausted. Really. And it's not just because the sun and the beach were so draining. Really, I promise.

I flew out Thursday morning to Altanta and then on to SC. I got up and took the boys to their respective places for the day - both were in good moods. I was eager for a few days of relaxation, ummm, I mean work, but I still knew I would miss all my Pants. Nature of the beast.

While I was standing in the Atlanta airport (which I think might just be what hell will be like - complete with rude employees and smelly travelers) my cell phone rang. It was Pants with the stellar notification that preschool had called him. Small Pants was running fever. 103.5 to be exact. Pants had left work and was going to get him.

I immediately felt very guilty. He was fine when I dropped him off and had not been the least bit whiney over the past few days. I am always the one who takes off and retrieves the sickly children or stays home with them. Not because Pants isn't capable but because he doesn't get paid if he doesn't work. Besides, boys want their mama when the don't feel well. I don't think that changes much as they reach adulthood either.

Here I was - many miles from my precious baby and he needed me. I needed to hold him and tell him it was going to be okay. I needed him to sit in my lap and watch Power Rangers three or four times. I needed to pump him full of fever reducers and give him a cool bath. I needed to be home. I was suddenly overcome with nausea. My child needed me, but more unsettling....was the fact that Pants might do just as good a job taking care of Mr. Sickly as me. What then? Would he still cry for me when he was hurt or sick?

I knew that Pants would do just fine. He is a wonderful father and just because he doesn't usually take care of that portion of parenting, it's not because he can't. Anytime they hurl anywhere but the toilet? I always make him clean up the barf - I just can't do it. I would end up adding more to the pile - I just can't even hear it happening. Ick. Pants - What a Saint. But I was always the one to hold them and let them sleep in my lap and baby them.

It felt so very strange to be so far away from home and my responsibilities. I longed to be home and taking care of the puny one, but also, there was no way my ass was getting up from that beach any earlier than it had to. This was the first time I had been alone and able to relax in 10 years. Sweet. I could lay by the pool or beach and not have my heart jump in my throat when I heard a splash - I didn't have to check and make sure it wasn't my kid drowning. A slice of heaven.

I needn't have worried. Pants was a warrior and babied that child and took his temperature (rectally, even. Dear Lord - I told you that man is a Saint) and watched his fever go down. He even let him sleep in our bed so he could keep an eye on him throughout the night. And so it turns out, Sweet Small Pants is/was fine, just a weird fever. Although I keep checking for chicken pox - any spots yet? Let me see your belly. OK, how about your back?

They were at the airport to pick me up and Small Pants was so excited to see me he was dancing. Again, I shouldn't have worried - he still loves me.

So now I know, and so does Pants, that he can handle the day to day crap. He is still the Uncontested Champion Barf Cleaner-Upper though. I ain't doin' it. Eww, I just can't. even. think. about. it. Double Ack.