Oh my god, you guys. I’m all alone. By myself. Out in the world. Without my baby. Or my husband. And I have no idea how to behave. I’m like my cats when they dart out the open front door FINALLY ESCAPING THE CONFINES OF THE EVIL HOUSE and then they stop short, having no idea what to do next. So many things to sniff! So many places to scratch!
If I was smart I’d be napping but oh well. I’ll sleep when I’m 50.
I finally decided that it’s okay if I need some time alone. It doesn’t mean I’m a bad mom, it means I’m a human. I know, you other moms figured that out a long time ago – I’m a little slow. And good at guilting myself into thinking I’m not allowed to be human now that I’m a mom. But look at me! At the library! Writing in my journal, blogging, staring out the window, thinking! All without obsessively checking on the napping baby or trying to play with her with one hand and type with the other.
Soooo, what should I do now? I live in Vegas. I guess I could catch Thunder From Down Under (I can’t tell you how embarrassed I was just now, looking that up at the library – what if somebody saw? Once a Mormon, always a Mormon), or go gamble away our life savings (oh wait, we don’t have a life savings, scratch that plan), or drink a foot-long alcoholic beverage while wandering drunkenly up the strip. It’s what all the chubby, still breastfeeding (not for LONG though!), sleep-deprived, tragically unhip, thirty-something moms are doing.
What I’ll probably end up doing, however, is finishing this blog, going to buy some SlimFast (I need to lose 50 pounds before I get pregnant again (and yes we’re talking about it but don’t get too excited yet Mom (and Dad) because it’ll be a few months still)) and then going home where I’ll bake cookies and snuggle in for a nap with my baby. Because ultimately that’s where I like to be. And apparently all I needed was 60 minutes alone. By myself. Out in the world.