I don't care who wants to stare these days

This afternoon, I was freed from my bounds by my dear mother, who came over to the house to sit with Sami whilst I ran errands.  I have never felt so happy to be doing the mundane in my life.  Jamison called to remind me that he was headed out to Matt's tonight, and I thought nothing of it - I did have the pressing matter of a jigsaw puzzle to finish and a date with my pajamas, after all.  It was only later I realized that he was going OUT for his guy's poker night, and I said, with some indignation, "I thought that wasn't until the 11th?"  He smiled and kissed my head and said he'd be home earlier than normal.  How is it the 11th already?  What year is it?  Was I sleeping?  Had I slept?  Is Tyler my bad dream or am I Tyler's?  Holy shit.

I'll ignore for the moment that Jamison is out having normal-person fun while I'm at home listening to my iPod and wishing I could drink myself stupid and repressing intense feelings of jealousy, but I don't dare while I'm in charge of a post-surgical kid.  She is doing much better at home, but there is still a lot of drama associated with this recovery; I admit that being her age is traumatic enough without a major reconstruction of one's spine, but I would like to see a lot less back-of-the-hand-across-the-forehead, movie-starlet-going-for-an-Oscar kind of emotion at the moment.  It's so hard to tell what's real pain and what's frustration - not that either one is preferable - and as selfish as it sounds, I'd for one second like someone to recognize the hell that I am also in.  Of course Sami is center-stage and I am not elbowing for the spotlight here, but if you ever need an example of a completely thankless moment in parenting, this is it, and not just from her.  I don't want a medal or a Mother Teresa distinction, but it would be nice if anyone understood how much this past week and a half has just plain aged me.  I feel older than I ever have; I'm tired and sore from hoisting the kid around, and I am depressed as fuck.  The worst possible thing for a person like me is to be a homebody or a housewife - it's the one thing I never wanted for myself and now that it's forced on me, I resent it.  I resent that I'm at home during a weekday, cleaning house, doing laundry, fetching meals for a kid, hanging up work clothes for a husband, and grocery shopping for a man who won't be home for dinner, and who is, in fact, out drinking beer with his buddies while I'm at home.  This is not good for my rage...not good for my rage....must find new train of thought.