My mom has a magnet with a cartoon of a mother hiding in a closed with a book and flashlight reading while her husband and kids search for her. It says “Working mothers have plenty of time for themselves”. I used to smirk at it and then dismiss it. I totally get it now. I am that magnet now.
Sweet Pea is almost 18-months. He is adorable. Yes, I’m biased, but he really is cute. He walks, bites (more on that later), babbles non-stop, dances to the theme song of The Big Bang Theory, wants to be read too whenever he glimpses a book. See – adorable.
Prior to motherhood, I came home from work and had quiet time. I had an hour or so before my husband came home. I read the paper, took a quick nap, and watched the news. Sometimes I was Holly the Housewife and had dinner ready when he came home.
Inserting one little pea shouldn’t have interrupted that too much.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. (That is sad / maniacal / exhausted laughter).
For that hour or so before Daddy comes home we are together. Not more than 5 feet apart. If I want to pee, change clothes, read a newspaper, chop an onion – I have an audience and helper who is really a tiny demanding dictator.
Enter the roomba. Ours is called Astro because we weirdly give everything a name. Sweet Pea loves him. He wakes up in the morning, gives me a quick hug, and then goes off to find him. We come home and if there are no planes to look up at we go directly inside so he can find Astro. Sweat Pea pushes, pulls, and shoves that little guy along the walls and under cabinets and does so methodically in the room he is in. He cries when Astro gets stuck or won’t fit under certain chairs. He is so focused on playing with the vacuum he doesn’t notice anything, like, say, Mommy going to the bathroom, or changing clothes, or getting his dinner ready.
I buy myself 5-10 of alone time by occupying my child with a vacuum. If that doesn’t scream Mother Of The Year someone need to rewrite the rules for the award.