Me Time

March 1, 2009 at 9:47 pm 2 comments

Since we were out of towels, I toss some in the wash before I go to bed.  I wake up in the morning, assuming that I have a clean towel because I remember throwing them in the wash the night before.  I forgot that I failed to put them in the dryer.  Doh!

I “get woke up” and realize that the towels never made it past the spin cycle,  so I sneak down to the basement and dump them into the dryer which guarantees that I’ll have at least one more hour of ickiness. 

Feed the boys breakfast…check my e’s…unload and reload the dishwasher.

*Dryer buzzes*

Now, to get the towels out of the dryer, I have to walk past the baby who is currently sitting and playing on the floor quite happily.

…..until he sees me walk right past him and NOT pick him up. Then he wails in a tone that could only be interpreted as “How. DARE. You.”

…..March down the flight of basement stairs…get towels…hike back up flight of stairs…

Walk past baby again…How.DARE.You..

…Carry towels up another flight of stairs to the bathroom…trudge back down the flight of stairs….

Pick up offended baby…he smiles in forgiveness..

…Trek back up the stairs. Again.

Strap baby in bouncey seat in bathroom….I’ve offended him once more..


Journey back down flight of stairs. Again.


Now, onto my three year old……….

If I want to be sure that he does not inflict any harm on himself, his brother, the dog, the house, or my sanity, I have three basic options as to what I can do with him while I am showering:

Option 1: Wake up early and shower in the room right next to his bedroom. This of course runs the risk that he will wake up early and force me to face a full day enduring the wrath of a cranky three year old. This is rarely an option I choose.

Option 2: Do what I promised myself I would never do before I had children: Plop him in front of the TV with a snack and a movie.

Option 3: Lock him in his room. Now, I don’t mean to shut the heavy door and dead bolt him in there. Since he still lacks the courage to scale the baby gate without standing on something, I have the advantage of using a husband-rigged version of a gate that he can‘t open. But since he will climb over it if he has something to stand on, I have to remove every box, bin, table, chair, or any other potential “booster” from his room. Then I can lure him in, lock the gate, and pursue my quest for cleanliness.

Since he was already awake, Option 1 is out…and since he just had breakfast, Option 2 is also out. So that leaves me with Option 3.

After I make yet another journey up the stairs and get my little guy situated in his room, I’m finally ready to take my shower…..with a gate-shaking preschooler tantruming in his room and an insulted 7 month old screaming in the bathroom.

But the fun is just starting..

I have not been able to look at myself in a mirror without thoroughly critiquing what I see since I was 13. And now it’s time to strip down and confront my post partum body face to face in the mirror. Ugg.

While my breasts are still definitely larger than the former versions of themselves, they are nowhere nearly as attractive. If they were more African in hue, they would blend right in with ta ta’s featured on the Discovery Channel. You know, the documentaries that put up the disclaimer that you are about to view “indigenous nudity.” Maybe my husband needs an indigenous nudity disclaimer of his own before he looks at me…

Equally as depressing as my post-partum breasts, is my post-partum stomach. At first glance, it’s not that bad. While a bit rounder than I would like it to be, it is still smooth minus a few stretch marks. But when I draw my stomach in, there is a small patch below my navel that looks exactly like a flesh colored raisin.

So me, my fleshy raisin, and my indigenous nudity boobs hop into the shower where I’ll try not to look down.

I draw the shower curtain closed, which induces a more-than-insulted howl from baby. Three year old Sam is now happily playing in his room though, so I try to tune out the baby cries.

Ahh, the warm water feels so good on my tense muscles.

I try to hurry so I can hold my screaming little bundle and comfort him, but I linger much longer than I should. I try to unwind. I deserve it after all I went through.

…The wailing continues…

I hold my hands over my ears so that the warm water massaging my head is the only thing I can hear.

I know that if I spend my “me time” continually peering in and out from behind the curtain engaging baby in a game of “peek-a-boo” that he will smile and be soothed. But today I choose to be selfish. This is my time.

Can’t I have 10 minutes?

….Uncover ears…still crying…

Guess not.

Once I’m reasonably sanitized, I get out and dry off with my fresh-from-the-dryer towel. Mmmm, I love the smell of fabric softener.

Baby is looking hopeful that he’s about be freed from his confinement chair of torture when I walk past him to go get dressed in the bedroom.

HOWWW DARRREEE YOUUU!!!! Have you no heart woman?…is what I’m sure he intended to say with his ear piercing yowl.

I throw on some sweats at top model speed and rush down the hallway to open the gate for Sam. He is blissfully playing trucks with his imaginary friends and unaffected.

Finally, I rescue my poor baby. He grabs onto my hair like a pair of handlebars and vigorously sucks the life out of my chin.

He’s tired, he’s hungry, he needs me.

We nestle into the glider in his room and I cuddle him while he eats. I stroke his soft peach-fuzzy hair, I gaze at him gazing back at me with wide contented eyes.

He needs me. He loves me. This is nice.

I guess I have to learn that my “me time” just needs a little mental readjustment. “We time” is just as nice.

Maybe better.


Entry filed under: life, Motherhood. Tags: , , , .

Thursday When Did I Grow Up?

2 Comments Add your own

  • 1. ck  |  March 2, 2009 at 1:50 am

    I hear you on the post-pregnancy body. I now understand why moms have their own “cover-the-abdomen-at-any-cost-style” of bathing suits. Like I want to share my crepe paper skin remains.

    Beautiful ending, though. They have a way of pulling us out of ourselves.

  • 2. KathyB!  |  March 20, 2009 at 1:17 pm

    This was really beautiful. I love the way you write.



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