They say a woman can’t resist a man who helps out around the house, but lets take a little minute to remove our hats (and clothes, if you wish) for the men who also step up to the parenting plate.
I don’t like to brag, but I kinda hit the jackpot with Mr Junebug – he’s a triple threat; easy on the eye, helps around the house, and has really got this ‘dad’ business down-pat. This morning was a prime example..
I’d been up since last week, trying to feed and settle a grizzly, growing babe; and as each hour ticked past, my patience began to evaporate. My gentle, whispered shushing had long since been replaced with mumbled expletives. My movements becoming more jarring and abrupt as I passively slammed an imaginary door and theoretically threw myself on the floor in a full-blown fictitious tantrum, in attempt to make myself feel better.
My legs were sore from bouncing; my eyes taking in turns to remain open just a sliver; my arms were aching, and a chiropractor would have had field day over the placement of my back and hips, but she was FINALLY falling asleep. I looked at the clock – 6:30 am. I would hopefully get half an hour of sleep before K woke up.
Sure enough, just as I climb back into bed, I hear the all too familiar thud as K’s feet hit the floor; she’s up. “I can’t sleep, can I come in?” She pleads, knowing we’ll send her back to bed.
“Back to bed!” we both grumble.
Which wakes M.
And that does it – there’s tears all round.
Mr Junebug, the only one with dry eyes, rolls out of bed and ushers the distraught three year old back to bed, calms her and tucks her in. Next, he takes the crying baby from my arms and lulls her back to sleep; allowing me to pull the covers over my head and have the meltdown I had imagined earlier. He allows me to remain in my cocooned state until his alarm sounds. He then hands me back a SLEEPING baby and quietly leaves the room; shutting the door behind him (thus preventing a certain three year old from bursting in with all her noise and enthusiasm the second she realises it’s time to get up).
When M wakes again, it’s 7:45 am. I panic – usually Mr Junebug needs to be out the door and on the road to work by this time. But when I stumble out of bed and stagger down the hall; hair a mess, eyes barely open and the babe swinging from a nip; I find him and K sitting at the breakfast table – K polishing off a second serve of breakfast, the kettle boiling, cup of tea ready to be poured, and Mr Junebug calmly tapping away on his work laptop.
And THAT right there, my friends, is how a male makes himself sexually attractive to a sleep deprived, covered-in-baby-spew-greasy-haired-smells-like-curdled-milk-and-morning-breath, dishevelled mother-of-two. (Who in reality, will be asleep before you can drop your dacks.)