Writer's Workshop: Because I'm the *Selfish* Mommy

3.) List the top 10 things you miss about being alone.


     I am a selfish, bitch of a Mommy. I am also unapologetic. In the last six days I have spent more time away from my children than I have spent with them. It's been wonderful! And that's ok. In fact it's more than ok, it's flat out necessary.


     I love my children. I love the Hubby. But sometimes I need to love myself more than I love my responsibilities and that means spending some time away from my family. Every day, as my children get older and my married years start to race my single years for the top spot I realize that I cannot be everything to everyone. My children cannot be the only thing in my life and that is true of my marriage as well.
     Friday morning I left for St. Louis and attended Bloggy Boot Camp. I spent the weekend speaking to women, whose eyes didn't glaze over when I spoke of SEO, pageviews and unique visitors. It made me realize how rusty my conversation skills were.
     I then spent Sunday perusing antique stores; going places that sticky, clumsy, little fingers aren't appreciated. I reacquainted myself with the smell of all things old, well-used and singularly loved. I touched tentatively and caressed longingly. I remembered beautiful things.
     That weekend away was spent sleeping singly in a bed made for two, under down duvets with a dry pillow of my own--always ready to be flipped to the cool side. I experienced solo bathroom breaks and idle bathroom chatter that didn't involve anatomy lessons or bowel movement discussions; no reminders of hygiene necessary.
     Tuesday evening had me at a MOMs Club event speaking about my greatest triumph and I found that creating human life although, spectacular wasn't it. I long for success beyond the potty chair and bunny ear, shoe-laces. I hear those forgotten accolades whispered in the recesses of my mind.
     Wednesday night was spent with my GNO crowd. Beer was savored and shared along with french fries, meatballs and cheesecake. The guilt laid on by the imagined abandoned children brushed aside in favor of friendship, camaraderie and laughter. Imagined encounters with young men and even husbands were discussed longingly as responsibility and burden was placed squarely atop slender shoulders.
     And now I'm home. I listen to the breathing of children (and the Hubby) and remember a time when only silence would have answered back from empty rooms. I see the dishes piled haphazardly in the sink, the toys in the hall and the shoe buried in the couch and wonder why.
     The time spent away brings my life sharply into focus for a moment with a clarity that makes me understand that life with children is limited and fleeting. But the woman I see in the mirror every morning is forever. I cannot be everything to everyone but ultimately I owe her a debit far greater than that which I owe my children. I cannot become a stranger to myself; I cannot lose myself to mothering.

Peace Out!
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