I travel for work. Not nearly as often as I used to, when I used to try to parent via webcam several times a month, but even since changing roles earlier this year I still have to travel from time to time. This week was one of those times. And boy was it a poorly timed trip. The kid has been ... challenging, to say the least. Especially when it comes to bedtime (we're told that her difficulty is likely to due to a severe case of being three).
Wednesday night, after another epic bedtime showdown that my wife had to handle solo, she (my wife, not the kid) admitted that she was feeling a wee bit of resentment given that I got to escape the madness for a couple of nights. At first I was kind of taken aback. The novelty of work travel has long since worn off for me and I tend to view each trip away as an abdication of responsibility. I don't like being alone in a hotel. I miss being home with my family and I tend to feel like crap every time I get an update on the madness at home because I'm not there to help.
But to Amy, I'm getting off easy. She's the one trying to wrangle the ball of energy and stubbornness that is our lovely daughter, I'm off in the relative peace and quiet that is my downtown Toronto hotel.
I hear a lot of parents talk about needing a break. Wanting an escape. And I totally get that. Hell, I wish I could send Amy away for a few more nights off myself. But there's something to be said for being at home in the trenches too.
I feel sometimes like I'm missing out on some parenting merit badges or something.
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