Home Alone At Last - What's a Mom To Do?
Yesterday, I woke up at 6:30am to say goodbye to my husband and 9-month-old son, who were getting ready to head out to catch a 9am flight to Florida. In my sleepy state, I somehow got suckered in to driving both of them to the airport (originally, they were just planning to hitch a ride in an Uber).
But let’s be real. They didn’t have to do too much convincing. I was going to miss both of them dearly -- and so far, this would be my longest time away from my son (5 days). I wanted to cherish the last few moments of my time with them for as long as I could. So off to the airport I went.
My ride back home was a quiet one. No whining. No crying. No one-syllabled shrieks of “maaaa” or “baaaa” were coming from the back seat. I looked in the rearview mirror and didn’t see a wide-eyed baby staring back at me.
As I entered my house, it was eerily silent. I worked out, cleaned the house, and got ready with no interruptions. It took me about 3 hours to do everything. I felt like I was moving at the speed of light. I was meeting my girls in the city later for brunch, but I had a couple hours to spare.
I didn’t know what to do with myself -- so I… ok... well... that part, I’ll leave out. The point is, I had SO MUCH FREE TIME. Gaah.
A wave of relief washed over my body.
FINALLY. FREEDOM. No one to think about other than myself. I went up to the city and had an amazing time with my ladies. We shared meaningful conversations and ab-hurting laughs.
I indulged myself in all the foie gras, chicken liver terrine, crepes, spaghetti, clams, rockfish, and creamy broccoli soup I could handle. I buzzed on so many complex, craft cocktails -- I don’t remember all of their names. I even delighted in the best vodka I had ever tasted: imported directly from Scotland. It was so good, I dragged it out by sipping slowly.
We tousled our hair, slided into our little black dresses, and put on our three-inch high heels. Daaamnn, we looked good. It was like the good ol’ days again -- young, wild, and free. GDO (girl’s day out) officially turned into GNO (girl’s night out). After dinner, we planned to bar hop. Maybe even do a little booty shaking on the dance floor. Heck, I could use a little twerking practice.
Because mommy twerking is #momgoals.
Little did we know, that night out didn’t last for long. After more glasses of wine, and three bowls of pasta in, we were bursting at the seams. And exhausted beyond belief. We wanted to go home, put something on the TV, and crash. And that’s exactly what we did.
25-year-old, single, and baby-free me would have been disappointed in myself.
35-year-old, married, and mom of one was happy as a clam.