Yesterday I was trying to remember the last time I had more than ten minutes to myself. As all trains of sanity-driven thought hung from the rafters like the discarded innards of party poppers… as the baby cried loudly and toddler cried even more loudly… as The Big One chattered aimlessly and the white noise of washing, cleaning hoovering filled my eardrums…
I’m not a fan of the phrase ‘Me Time’. It always sounded so cheesy. But three kids later, it now seems like the elusive prize. The golden carrot dangling in front of my nose.I want it. I need it. How do I get it?
I love my kids. I love being with them and caring for them and playing with them. But I think I might like to be away from them sometimes too. I know that makes me normal. And yet, there is always something that comes in between me and ‘Me Time’. It might be a baby who hasn’t slept all day and needs to go to bed immediately. It might be a toddler who has a tummy ache and needs hour long cuddles until he feels better. It might be a school choir concert or a school disco that needs attending. It might not be any of that and yet, it still seems life gets in the way.
I signed up for this and to be honest I’m not really complaining. It’s just that I would like to
shave my legs
wash my hair
paint my nails
sort my underwear drawer
do some yoga
read a book
all in one day.