I almost murdered my husband last night. Or maybe he almost murdered me. Either way, all is well, neither of us were murdered.
About 1am the baby woke up, and when I couldn’t lull him back to sleep with the power of my aimless dancing , I gave in and made him a bottle. But while I was making that bottle, he continued to scream and cry. This got my husband, the man who never hears the baby crying in the middle of the night, to get up and check on us. As I rounded the corner, bottle in hand, he came lumbering down the hall only visible by his white t-shirt. I jumped a thousand feet in the air and nearly Similac-ed his ass. Oh yes, that’s a thing.
I very rarely use the Lord’s name in vain, but I gasped, “Jesus Christ, Steven!”
He jumped back too, “Sorry. Just making sure you’re okay.”
“Yeah, I was. Before you put me cardiac arrest!”
He then lumbered back to bed, half laughing at how excellent he is at silently lumbering at small women in the dark. I fed Jack and that’s when I came to a realization.
Do you ever say to yourself, “what would I do in a blah blah blah type of crisis?” I do all the time. I think of horrible horrible scenarios and devise a full-proof plan of action. Flood? I know exactly how to float away to happy land. Right propeller goes out on my plane on the way to Honolulu? I got this, bitch. Discontinuation of Twinkies? Still working on that one. But the one I had for a burglar was blown out of the water the moment my own husband practically left me in a desperate pile of sticky cowardice.
So the plan goes like this. If someone ever broke into the house in the middle of the night and Steven wasn’t home to protect me, I would stay in bed. I’d let him come into the bedroom. I would lay unmoving, still and silent. And I would allow him to get close. Very close. And once he got just close enough. POW! I would jump outta bed all Jackie Chan style and beat the crap out of him with pillows and candlesticks and anything else I have close at hand. Once he’s unconscious, I’d grab the kids, run across the street to our neighbors, and call the cops. People would be so impressed with my bad-assness that I’d do the morning talk-show circuit describing my awesome burglar escaping techniques. Eventually I’d write a book about it, and come out with my own work-out/ get-out burglar evading exercise video. Part of me couldn’t wait to get burglarized!
But after last night, I realized I am dumb and that will never happen. Here’s how it would really go down. The bad guy would come into my room and as soon as I hear the door open I’d roll over and look eye to eye with him. Then, I’d close my eyes tightly and pretend to go back to sleep. I would lay there, thinking the most gruesome thoughts and my whole body would start to shake. I would start crying. My face would be all wet and snotty and gross, but I’d keep my eyes close because as we all know, if you can’t see him, he can’t see you. Then, just as I think he’s close enough to attack, I’d jump out of bed, probably fall on the floor, and start flailing my arms and kicking my legs and screaming, “TAWANDA!”. In the middle of all this is when I would realize my eyes are still closed, and I’d open them to find the burglar standing about 2 feet away looking down on me with a little bit of pity. I would then jump to my feet, run out the door, and scream behind me, “KIDS! GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!” while I hot foot it to the neighbors. Once there, I’d bang on her door and scream erratically. She would peak out the window to see me in a tank top and granny panties and think, “Rachel must be on acid again. I better call the police.” So, instead of catching the burglar, they’d arrest me and I’d end up in a cell with the infamous all-girl biker gang The Raping Rainbows. Guess I’ll be visiting the talk-show circuit for a completely other reason now.
Go ahead and laugh. It’s only my life we’re talking about.
So, I didn’t have any New Years Resolutions, but I guess I do now. Build a Panic Room. And get hot arms like Jodie Foster. Sounds good to me!
Thanks for reading!!!