So this week is that week in June. Rob is out of town, and I'm not really minding as much as I expected to. In fact, I'm kind of enjoying it. Shh! I feed Westley at 5:00 PM, clean up, and then I'm done thinking about dinner...which means Westley can take his bath sooner...which means he gets into his pajamas sooner...and because I'm not as enthusiastic with my fabricated French, Westley gets to bed sooner. And then?
I'm listening right now, and I can hear the cat water fountain flowing, and the refrigerator thinking about making ice. Oh, and myself typing. And that's it! I love it. I'm hooked on the quiet.
I'm surprised at how much I'm enjoying just sitting around with my own non-sounds (because, like smells, your own don't usually bother you much and therefore don't count). Elimination dieting has resulted in a huge boost in my mood, so I like myself a little better right now, which helps with the being alone thing. But there's something else, and I can't really tell what it is. Maybe it's just that I can't remember the last time my life was actually quiet.
For the guys' sakes, I'm glad Rob comes home on Friday. Although Westley has been dealing with the separation very well, no amount of my presence is a substitute for Daddy-time. And Rob has sounded exhausted when I've talked to him; I know he'll be glad to be home. I'll be glad to have a manly someone in my bed again, and I won't miss cleaning the cat box. But I'm afraid I'm really going to miss the truly quiet evenings at home.