Me and the Wife

It's been a tough year, work-wise. Tough in that I can't seem to get shit done, thanks to eight billion no-school days (snow days, winter break, parent-teacher conferences and others), Patrick's busy schedule (fashion week, NY and Paris), Polly's fractured ankle and a nasty stomach virus that took down our house for nine days.

But that's all over now. Something amazing has happened. Something scary and wonderful and kind of bizarre, if you know us. And by "us" I mean, me and the wife.

For five months, starting tomorrow, Polly will be home with Jack. That's right, my "come-in-to-work-even-if-you're-bleeding-from-the-head" girl quit her job. For us. For the family. For me.

This is bizarre because Polly likes to work, and because for almost six years I have been the "default" parent -- the person who, of the three of us, is ultimately responsible for Jack's care. If there's a snow day, or a sick babysitter, or someone needs to work late (someone besides me), I cover it. It's just assumed that I will, and they won't. Or it was assumed. Before.

Not that I didn't have help, because I did. And in the last few months Polly did her best to give me extra time, but there's only so many days she can call in sick to work, you know?

When we started this family I set things up so that I had to adjust my schedule according to Jack's needs, and Polly and Patrick's schedules, which meant a lot of long days and late nights as I tried to write other people's books. I was making myself and everyone close to me a bit crazy, trying to figure out how to live this double life. But that was before.

Today, I need more. Today, I need a wife.

The thing is, this is my year. Everything is taking off for me. My business is exploding. Sure I've had a lot of success it the past, but now it's not just me. It's me and my team and all of our projects. It's big opportunities and even bigger plans, and if I'm going to rise to the occasion, I need help.

I wrote three books while Jack was sleeping. I wrote more books while Jack was in preschool, on Saturdays and in the middle of the night. I've pulled more all-nighters in my 30s than I ever did in my teens or 20s. I turned out some amazing books, but I didn't pull it off, really, because I wasn't happy. Or healthy. Or sane.

I kept thinking, everything will be fine when Jack goes to kindergarten. That's how I've lived the last five years, waiting for things to get better when I could have been asking for what I needed. Why are the most simple concepts so hard to grasp?

So I'm free now. The path is clear. I have time to do nearly everything I want to do, and when I am hangin' with my guy, I'll be more fully present, able to just enjoy him, rather than think about what I'm not getting done. We'll all be happier, more relaxed. We'll all have more fun.

Polly's freaking, of course. She's worried she'll hate it. And she might. But it's only until September, when she starts her new nursing program and Jack is gone for eight hours every day.

Besides, as much she might hate her new "wifey" role, she'll love the new me.

Happy Easter, all.