I am in desperate need of a getaway with my husband.

We don’t get away very often.

We don’t live near our parents. Even if we did live near our parents, I cannot guarantee that they would watch our kids for a week so we could go get freaky in Cuba.

I don’t even want to get that freaky.

I just want to watch him act like real human and not a parent.

This parenting gig is wearing us down.

I don’t want to watch him butter someone’s damn bagel or play referee during an overly aggressive mini-sticks game.

It’s funny because I have heard this said about women all the damn time.  I have heard that men get dissapointed that their wives have changed once they became a mother. You know; she wears her pj’s all day, gained a bit of weight and refuses his sexual advances.

I am guilty of all that.

I don’t agree with those comments.

But, there is a very minuscule small part that I do understand.

I miss my husband before he became a father.

Listen, he is a great father, it is one of my favourite things about him. It totally turns me on.  And I still see glimpses of the man I was engaged to each and every day. I just miss when he was just with me.

Maybe I am jealous for the time he spent with just me.

We did get away for one night this winter. I found a Groupon that I couldn’t turn down for a resort 10 minutes from our house.  We dropped off the kids at my dear friend’s home at 5 pm and picked them at noon the next day.

We had dinner out, drank a few beer and then gambled $40 in the casino. It was kind of boring.

Want to know the best part of our night away?

It was the morning.

Want to know why?

It was the best part because we slept in, we drank coffee in our underwear, we read the paper and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast.

The thing is, it wasn’t enough.

I want a week of mornings with my husband.

It is when I see the old him.

I don’t need a beach. I don’t need to dance.  I don’t want to get drunk. I don’t want to make small talk with strangers. I don’t want to curl my hair or eyelashes.

I just want him.

I want to chat with him over coffee. I want to giggle over editorials that he reads me. I want to watch him get dressed after a shower. Hell, I want to get in the shower with him.

Okay.

I changed my mind.

I want to get dolled up and get drunk while dancing on the beach and making small talk like, “Oh my God, we are from Canada, too!” while holding my husband’s hand.

And in the morning I want him to hold my hair while I throw up.

You know, the good stuff we used to do before we had kids and had to butter bagels.

 

p.s I know that some of you are here for the very first time. And I am flattered. Totally. But, if you want to know me, you should know that I hit celebrity trainer Jillian Michaels on t.v with Tyra Banks.