There are times when I curse my ability to view situations from both angles. This was never so clear as the other evening when I got mildly buzzed on a small glass of sherry, and thought to myself, "I wish I lived back in the days of Mother's Little Helpers". Of course the devil's advocate in my brain immediately piped up and said "no you wouldn't, because you'd get hooked on valium or some other nifty substance, and neglect Tiffany, and you'd never forgive yourself for that." Which is true. But after a stressful evening filled with fussing and cranky, teething baby, when she had been tucked up soundly in her crib for the night and I finally let all that tension out of my body- man, I could really relate to someone wanting that sort of feeling all the time. Wouldn't it be so much more relaxing to be able to have that floating feeling of no anxiety or an entire day of not worrying about how I'm going to get all the household chores done?

I really shouldn't be bitching about this now. I'll save the bitching for the next time my husband's deployed, when I don't have the luxury of taking an evening off and getting a little buzz like that in the happy knowledge that if Tiffany needs something he'll take care of it. I'll save the bitching and whining for when he's not around and I've got no safety net, and I dream of those Little Helpers on the hard evenings.

In the meantime, my Little Helper will be the way that Tiffany's head smells, all fresh and soft and clean when she's nuzzled up under my chin, half asleep after a bottle and sucking on her chubby little fist. That moment is worth going through all the fussy moments in the rest of the week.