Rich and Connor were away last week, leaving me home alone for six days. SIX DAYS.

That’s six days of a quiet house all to myself. Six days of my definition of heaven. But it was also six days of anxiety, worrying about them as they drove 1,000 miles there and 1,000 miles back and five nights of talking myself down while listening to every little sound a quiet house makes.

Here’s what it was like.

Day 1

8:30 a.m.: Depart for work, leaving the husband with strict instructions to provide regular updates on their drive so I can avoid picturing them crashing on the highway. Cry.

10 a.m.: Check for text message from husband.

Noon: Get text message from husband. They’re still alive.

2 p.m., 3:13 p.m., 4:28 p.m.: Check phone to make sure haven’t missed a message.

5:30 p.m.: Get text message from husband. They’ve reached target destination for the night.

6 p.m.: Leaving work late because apparently I’m not properly prepared to take advantage of having the house to myself.

6:10 p.m. Another text message from husband. They’re driving on. Okay…will keep phone close by then.

6:50 p.m.: Arrive home. Dog starts barking his head off when I pull into driveway. With no boys in the house all day and having watched them depart with suitcases, I’m sure he thought he had been forever abandoned. Take barking to be a good sign though – probably no lurking murderers inside. Go into house. Dog greets me like his long-lost and much-mourned mother, then promptly goes outside to his man cave under the deck. And doesn’t come back in. I guess he didn’t miss me that much.

7 p.m.: Dinner time – usually a time I dread because the thought of eating at this time of night turns my stomach. But, left to my own devices, have stopped at grocery store on way home to stock up on stuff to make a big salad. Make big salad and relish the idea that no one else is here to steal all my baby corn.

8 p.m.: Another message from husband. They’re still driving. He must have gone insane.

8:30 p.m.: It’s getting dark – better walk the dog. Entice him in from his man cave and head out. Pass a cul-de-sac with a bunch of noisy kids enjoying the last of the evening’s light. Consider asking them to come and sleep on my living room floor so I’m not in the house alone overnight. Pass the house where small, yippy dog goes positively berserk every time we walk past. Do not consider asking berserk dog to sleep on living room floor.

8:45 p.m.: Dog is a little overexcited about this walk. His enthusiastic pulling on the leash causes fierce Braxton Hicks, but I figure at least his heavy breathing will scare away any potential stalkers and prevent me from having to attempt to waddle quickly down the street.

9:22 p.m.: Have retired upstairs to bed. Dog is standing by front door barking. I don’t have enough Xanax for this. (I don’t have any at all, actually. And I’ve never taken Xanax. But still…)

9:42 p.m.: Husband texts. They’ve made it to the ferry and will be at my parents’ tonight. Glad, at least, that I don’t have to worry about them driving tomorrow.

12:20 a.m.: Dog is barking again. This is going to be a long night.

1 a.m.: Husband texts again to say they caught last ferry and have arrived. Text back. He texts again to tell me I’m supposed to be sleeping. Stupid husband – how am I supposed to sleep with dog barking and phone beeping?

1:10 a.m.: Try anyway.

Day 2

7 a.m.: Haven’t slept much. Hit snooze button for an hour straight.

9 a.m.: Haul myself into work. Decide I’m being silly and resolve to suck it up tonight and just sleep.

6 p.m.: Arrive home from work. Dog doesn’t bark. Briefly wonder if this means he’s been silenced by an intruder; realize that’s unlikely. When I open the door and call him he gets slowly up from a chair in the living room where he’s been napping. Dumb dog.

9 p.m.: Summoning all rational thought, head to bed.

Day 3

7 a.m.: Success! Slept most of the night (aside from getting up to pee – damn pregnancy).

9 a.m.: Rear-ended on way to work. Great, that’s just what I need – to be worrying about a car accident while eight months pregnant.

9:33 a.m.: Continue on to work. Why is it that every car seems to be tailing too close?! Stupid drivers.

9:35 a.m.: Realize it’s probably not prudent to be driving on the freeway while constantly watching rearview mirror.

10:30 a.m.: At work. Talk to midwife, who assures me that minor fender bender means baby should be fine. Spend time trying to reassure anxious husband and mother.

5:37 p.m.: Leaving work. What is up with people coming up behind me and changing lanes quickly at the last minute? Life flashes before my eyes repeatedly during drive home. Really, really don’t need this.

9 p.m.: Go to bed early and try to reset. Thank god tomorrow’s Friday!

Day 4

10:15 p.m.: A bit of a wacky day at work. Happily ensconced in bed watching Downton Abbey for the 14th time. (Matthew is so yummy.)

Day 5

11 a.m.: Did well again last night – no ridiculous midnight panic attacks. See? I’ve got this. And I could get used to sleeping in… Too bad they’re coming home tomorrow.

10 p.m.: Quite a nice Saturday. Could definitely get used to this, especially because I’m not freaking out at every little noise anymore.

11:26 p.m.: What was that noise?!

1:14 a.m.: And that noise – what was that?!

2 a.m.: Dammit. Now I’m just awake. And hungry. But don’t want to go downstairs in the dark.

2:20 a.m.: After 20 minutes of agonizing, decide to go down and get some cereal already. Dog lying by back door. Let dog out, get cereal, let dog back in. Go back upstairs to bed. Dog follows.

2:49 a.m.: Enjoy having dog sleep with me, but kind of prefer him to be downstairs so he can be first line of defence against intruders. Besides, he’s taking up all the space on the bed.

3:01 a.m.: Oh well. Better try to sleep.

3:06 a.m.: Effing heartburn.

Day 5

10 a.m.: Wake up. Have survived five nights in house by myself.

11:13 a.m.: It’s too quiet around here. Glad boys are going to be home this afternoon.

Noon: Text from husband. They’re about three hours away.

12:01 p.m.: Oh god, am about to lose all this lovely peace and quiet.

12:02 p.m.: Accept ridiculousness of it all and take self out for ice cream.