Literary, Literally

It’s amazing when I look back at my parenting journey. It reads so much like a book, divided into very distinct chapters. Artists would call them periods, as in the Newborn Period, the Infancy Period, etc. That word has too much reproductive baggage for me to bring myself to use it in this context, however. I’ll stick with chapter.

The chapter we’re in now is Hiding from the Kids. In it, I go about the daily tasks of mothering, diapering, laundering, cooking, cleaning, and etcetera, but in the spare few moments when both daughters have become distracted by something (relatively) safe, I sneak away and hide from them. This is only for a few minutes at a time, until one or both of them wander about and find me. I usually check my email really fast, or read a bit of a web page. Sometimes I work out a single crossword puzzle clue. Sometimes I actually do something productive, like put socks away. It doesn’t matter. I just find that I crave time alone. Even if it’s just a few moments here and there.

Of course, as all good mothers, I consider this behavior to be a horrific malefaction, since it involves me doing something for myself and not living the selfless, egoless, martyr-like life of a perfect MamaSaint. I hope this chapter ends soon, and I move on to something less guilt-ridden…..

Shoot. They found me.


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