Business trip? Give me a break – Mr T is on holiday

Mr T’s work schedule is normally family-conducive. He’s out the door at 7am, which gives him enough time to change our early riser’s nappy and sing her a song or two. And usually we can expect him home around 5 or 5.30pm. The one time he had to attend a two-day conference in Dubai, Her Dictatorship and I tagged along and embarked on a marathon shopping session in the mall.

This past week, however, Mr T set off on a work trip to the United States and had me begrudgingly acknowledge that he does, in fact, offer a helping hand when needed, and that I am, in fact, lucky to have him around. With him away, the week dragged on and on, with Baby A’s cuteness levels mysteriously diminishing.

“Where Daddy?” asked Baby A, the first night he didn’t show up at her bath time.

“Off on a business trip to Seattle,” I explained, “and he had to ride an airplane but he loves Mama and Baby very much.”

“Where baba?” she asked every two hours during that long, first night, when sleep seemed as distant as her jet-setting father. “Baba bye-bye,” I repeated, over and over.

“Where dada?” she continued to ask, all week long. “Your father is on holiday and when he comes back, we’re going to kill him,” I said to her for the rest of his absence.

Business trip? Give me a break – Mr T is on holiday and there’s no way I’m showing him any sympathy for the jet lag he is suffering from. He had the gall to pretend he was dreading the long-haul trip, all 14 odd hours of it, to rainy Seattle. I would kill to go on a 14-and-a-half hour trip right now. In fact, I’d settle for flying that long and then flying straight back; I don’t even need to dis- embark. Can you imagine, over half a day of being blissfully alone? With a book? With all those movies to watch? With a reclining seat in business class where I can take a nap any time the fancy strikes? With my very own hot meal, that I will consume while it is still hot, and not have to share with an ungrateful toddler?

When you’re a parent, a business trip is a holiday, and if Mr T calls it a business trip one more time, I’m confiscating his passport. During his alleged “business trip”, my husband got to sleep in. He got to order room service for breakfast. He watched grown-up TV and did not have to put up with a single minute of Dora, Teletubbies, Yo Gabba Gabba! or that whiny Elmo. He dined out and socialised, and did not have to call any restaurant ahead of time to make sure they have highchairs. He did not have to get up in the middle of the night to stagger to the kitchen and fix the baby a bottle. He slept, through the night – sweet, uninterrupted sleep – on clean, freshly laundered sheets. He engaged in conversation with like-minded adults in a five-star hotel’s lobby. He did not step on a toy, then bite his lip to refrain from cursing out loud in front of Her Impressionable Dictatorship.

This is why, when my husband claims that he, allegedly, found it tough to be away from his family when he was on his “business trip”, I snort.

I’m not buying it at all.

Hala Khalaf is a freelance writer living in Abu Dhabi