I have been in active pursuit of alone time every day since my son was born. My efforts of yet have been futile. I love my husband. I love my kids. Most days, I even love my dog. But the older I get and the more little hands I have invading my non-existent personal bubble, the more I crave privacy. One night recently I was especially cranky (shock, I know) and after a really long week, I. Just. Wanted. To. Be. Alone. I told my husband this and he was on board (God bless him) and was all, “Yeah, sure.” I’m like, “No, I want to be alone.” He’s like “Yeah, I got it.” I’m like, “No, I don’t think you do–I want to be ALONE”. Then to be clear, I delineated the following clarification:
Current Theoretical Alone Time |
Alone Time does NOT include:
Large neurotic dogs panting in my face regarding some perceived hysteria
Socializing with the sweet Genaurdi’s delivery man
Calling every establishment in town and scheduling all of our family’s appointments for the next several months
Running herd after a toddler
Hosting a playdate
Having a baby repeatedly try to pull all of my thinning hair out of my head
Rehashing our depressing financial state for the 1,000th time this week
Pooping with an audience (oh it happens, people–parents, you know exactly what I mean)
Attending a work happy hour
Going on a group walk
Escaping upstairs with a book only to have very sweet little blonde heads pop up beside my bed every 30 seconds
Talking to anyone else
Talking at all
In fact, perhaps what I am seeking is a self-induced coma??
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