Autonomy for Moms in 30 Minutes or Less

Being a full-time mommy at home puts you into a strange time vortex. I still remember what it felt like to work full time with a baby, and I frequently find myself marveling at how busy I feel as a stay-at-homer. The vortex feels especially pronounced and indescribable when people ask what you've been up to lately, and time stops while you have a conversation with yourself in your head,
“Hmm, well I haven’t washed my hair in 3 days so I must have been pretty busy. Let’s see…I did sweep the floor like 15 times so the baby would eat less dirt but that’s probably not interesting. Um, I could talk about how I watched the first 10 minutes of the Lego movie like 7 times. What the $%&! have I been doing? This person just wants to know what I’ve been up to and I'm standing here with my jaw open like a half wit. Why is this such a hard question? Was I roofied? Where did the last week of my life go? WHAT HAVE I BEEN DOING THE LAST 3 YEARS?” This is the thing - there’s a ton of free time, but it happens in minute increments between a cornucopia of mind-numbingly mundane but vital tasks.

Pre-school. AKA 3 hours of vacation for me twice a week.
Right? No, wrong. Totally wrong.

Last week my 3 year old started preschool. The first day I came home, just me and the baby, I jovially performed my signature “hitting the jackpot” dance consisting of fist pumps, shimmies and twerking but without any of the sexiness usually associated with the shaking of lady parts. “Dude, I’m going to be so productive because having one kid is a piece of a cake! (I refer to myself as dude in my head because myself and I have an understanding that I’m way chill and laid back.)
Maybe I can write and really get in the zone, instead of attempting original thoughts and typing while my son climbs on my back begging for a 4th banana as if we’re a gorilla family with the great fortune of owning a laptop." Well, one baby isn’t as liberating as I’d hoped. My son is at school, and my daughter is taking a nap, but I realize now nap time isn't freedom. Really it provokes more anxiety than the rest of the day. The second that baby closes its eyes, a timer is set for an unknown amount of time. During this time you need to complete no less than 20 chores, and squeeze in some “you time” before you hear the cry signaling your thirty minute serving of autonomy has concluded.

Tick...tick...tick.

The caveat to enjoying yourself in the “down time” moments of 24/7 mothering is that inevitably you will be interrupted, and then you’ll be pissed. You’re pissed because for a minute there you transcended the housework and diaper changes and were reminded that you have a mind, a body, or maybe even a soul capable of doing whatever it is that you were enjoying - writing, yoga, painting your nails, weaving macramé. Inescapably (usually within 30-45 minutes with my light napping kids) you’re jolted out of peaceful euphoria WAY before you feel like returning to your gig as slave to 2 people who can’t even name the current secretary of state. It’s like being woken up by a tree falling through your roof right before the good part in a steamy dream. “Great, not only is nothing sexy happening, but there is a massive hole in the upper part of my house and it’s forecasted to rain.” Most days you won’t say it, but you will look at your kids and think in capital letters “UGH…YOU AGAIN.” Immediately you’ll realize you are horrible and then berate yourself about being a selfish unloving person. The guilt will make you grumpier, less fun to play with and even meaner to your kids. Sensing your hesitance to meet their needs, your kids will turn up the volume on their obnoxious, needy, totally natural kid behavior, especially if you dare resume whatever you were focusing on. Now you’re just a spoke on the cycle of frustration.

I know this because I’ve rode that bicycle so many times. To survive happily I should just keep my head down and stick to taking the trash out and restocking toilet paper during nap time. The worse the chore, the happier you’ll be when your kids demand your attention again. Yet I still, perhaps foolishly, strive to be more than a mass of unwashed hair and wrinkly snot stained clothes dissipating within a black wormhole of toy trucks, sliced apples and baby talk. Some days it seems like I’m losing the battle. The attempts at personal enjoyment become less and less enjoyable because I know where we’re headed. I’m “chasing the dragon” of simple pleasures, but experience has taught me that after the first hit it’s all just itching and vomiting. You’re welcome for the heroin metaphor. 

Once on vacation I asked my husband if I could just lay in the hammock alone for 20 minutes.
This was taken 2 minutes in.

Don’t get me wrong, there are an abundance of beautiful moments, but those happen with my kids. I stop a hundred times a day (50 on bad days) to mentally pinch myself in disbelief that I get to soak up every moment with these walking, talking little miracles that grew in what my son fondly refers to as my "huge giant tummy." But when they’re sleeping or preoccupied I long for moments that aren’t about anybody but me. A couple hours to write where I can just be in my head and not anticipating wrapping up at a moment’s notice. Paying attention to an entire movie without feeling guilty about the million other things I should be doing. A long candle lit bath where no one throws a rubber ducky at my head as they announce they’re coming in too. It’s not that you can’t do anything, you just can’t do it without the ever present ticking of your adorable human shaped time bombs.