So a weird thing happens when you have a baby. You’re expected to spend like, all of your time with him. Part of this is of course my own doing, as I have made my boobs the baby’s sole food source. I do pump however, so I get some time away. for instance, about three days a week I get the ultimate pleasure of commuting into NYC’s financial district in order to sit at a desk for 7 hours or so. I take the train right into the rubble of the World Trade Center site and then walk 15 minutes in the blistering cold to my office, where the action begins.
As sucky as being a desk jockey is, I find myself looking forward to going to work. Not because of any innate sense of satisfaction that work provides me, but because it’s the only time I’m able to sit in one place for a period of more than thirty seconds before I hear Cooper’s siren song of , “OhmygodwhatthefuckareyoudoingIneedtobemovedrightnow!” I can eat an uninterrupted meal, I can concentrate on a task for more than a few minutes at a time; it’s the least-stressful part of my day.
But dammit, I want more. I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, but outside of work, I’ve only really been away from my baby a few times, and only for an hour or two at that. I went to my sister’s bachelorette party; I went out to dinner on my birthday, and, well, that’s about it. Cooper is nearly four months old and I’ve done absolutely nothing by myself.
I didn’t even really realize this; it’s not as though I just toil away at home like Rapunzel, just looking longingly out the window and thinking of things I no longer do or places I no longer see. I just got busy and kind of forgot that I used to be able to drive in a car without praying for green lights so I can keep in constant motion and avoid my eardrums being punctured by frantic screams.
So this past weekend Luke had plans to meet up with a friend, so as a preemptive apology for coming home drunk and annoying, he offered to watch the baby all day saturday so I could have a day to myself. It’s funny how you don’t realize how much you’re missing something until you get it back, because oh my God. I got so excited. I spent the rest of the week planning what I would do in my head counting down the seconds until I was baby-free.
When the day actually came, I started out by staying in bed until 11(!) and luxuriously drinking coffee and eating breakfast. I finally left the house around 1 and did the most stereotypical crap I could think of. I went to a movie, bought some shoes, got my nails done and had dinner while I read my book. It was probably the most relaxing day I have had since Cooper was born.
But a funny, if not predictable thing started to happen around hour five: I got sad. I mean, not sad enough to go home or anything like that. I wasn’t sad and crazy, after all. But I felt like a part of me was missing. Even though I was doing things for me, things that I enjoy; it felt different. I knew in the back of my mind that I was missing out on something better.
Something like dressing a helpless child up like a reindeer.
