I love staying home with Kiddo. I can't imagine letting any one else experience her day to day life, and only seeing her in the early morning and evening. It comes with sacrifices, but I am grateful to be here.
One effect of staying home though is a vaguely over-the-top joy when my husband gets home. I need an adult to remind me that life is not all about eating with your hands and electronic 10-bar versions of children's songs played by cheap toys. I usually do really well until about 4:30. Then I must exert significant mental discipline to not call my husband and say "Come home now." (And let's be honest, some days I lose the battle, and call any way.)
This desire for a 4:30 quitting time is particularly complicated because of my husband's teaching schedule. My husband is only teaching a two-credit class this semester (as opposed to two four-credit classes last semester), which is a huge blessing in terms of giving him additional time to work on his dissertation. More time to work = quicker to finish. But he starts teaching at 4:30. So two days a week, just when I'm ready to be done, he is just starting. 90 minutes later he finally gets home (and he gets here as quick as he can).
But no matter when he gets home, my husband throws himself into fathering full heart until bedtime, which is exactly the way I want him to be.
