I've got a Saturday night case of the crazies

I don't remember when was the last time I had an evening alone in the house. It was probably last October, when Stuart was in New Jersey for work. At that time I was swamped with school work and in that blissful second trimester of pregnancy when you have lots of energy and your ankles still resemble their original shape and people compliment you by saying "You look great!" instead of "You're huge! Are you sure it's not twins?" In any case, I had plenty to do to keep myself occupied, and I had the freedom to leave and spend time with my friends if I wanted.

Tonight Stu is out at a sending-off party for a friend at work who is moving out of the country next week. I decided not to go quite literally at the last minute because I was nervous about leaving Daniel with a babysitter after he'd gone to bed. Imagine being a little baby and waking up hungry and in the dark and who comes to comfort you? Not your mama like you're used to, but this complete stranger who smells different and looks different and can't nurse you. He would have survived, but I would have spent the entire evening miserable and worrying about it, so I bid Adieu to my husband and stayed here.

I thought it might be kind of nice to have an evening to myself. I can watch whatever stupid TV shows I want! I can knit to my heart's content! I could get some reading done!

But instead I'm feeling a little neurotic. I drank a glass of wine. I watched an old episode of Law and Order, even though that show gives me the heebie-jeebies. I almost picked up the phone about a hundred times to call Stu ostensibly to see how the party's going, but really to find out when he's coming home. He's later than he said he would be, and I'm sure the reason he hasn't called is that he figures I might be in bed. Daniel discovered how to flip onto his stomach to soothe himself to sleep and I've checked on him every three minutes to make sure he's still breathing. I've turned him on his back, but every time he's woken up and flipped over again.

If this were any other night I would have been in bed an hour ago, but I feel nervous and on edge for absolutely no good reason. I should have treated myself to a bubble bath and a viewing of my favorite Buffy episodes, but instead I'm blogging to pass the time, looking in obsessively on my sleeping son, and fidgeting and pacing and fidgeting and pacing some more.

I don't get it. I'm almost always a calm, rational person. But for some reason I have a hard time being alone at night. I think I'm afraid of the dark.