Pete forgot his keys last night. He had a gig not far away, and we have my dad's car, so his house keys were a separate set. I can totally understand that, as my house key is separate from my car keys right now because we need to leave one here with whoever is taking care of The Boy. Plus, I lose my keys all the time.
Thing is, I don't come home at 3:00 in the morning and have to scratch on the screen to the bedroom, waking up both mother and baby at a time when they were actually asleep.
Thing is, I don't come home at 3:00 in the morning when my gig was done at 11:15.
Thing is, I don't get out of the house alone at night much at all, and I would never ever come home so late. Because I can't. Because I am needed. I can't think something like "I wanted to stay and hear the other bands; it was fun."
Yesterday when Pete came home from working on his freelance stuff, and I had suffered through a particularly bad baby night, I was practically in tears, giving my whole "Moms are no fun" speech, and over dinner, Pete gave his heartfelt "If there's anything I can do" speech.
Here's what you can do. For starters, you can not stay out until 3:00 a.m.
(Sorry, Pete. I had to tell on you.)
(No comments from the peanut gallery, please.)
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