May 31st: 120 hours alone
120 hours to fulfill my wildest dreams (... clean the kitchen?)
For some reason, I feel like listening to Taylor Swift’s 1989 album (Wildest Dreams more specifically) would match the mood in this post — if you want to give it a go.
P took L to Madrid to visit family. When he booked the tickets a few months ago, I was in such a state of overwhelm — and I think, burn out — that I couldn’t see myself traveling (first world problems). The bare thought of it made me feel restless, almost panicked. So I told him to go on his own, he’d manage with L and a little help from everyone. Generally, P has been better than me at handling sleep deprivation. So with a bit of faith that nights would get better and the reassurance that I’d take over when he’d be back, he booked the tickets.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been increasingly excited at the thought of having so much time on my own. 5 full days of me time, thinking about myself only, making decisions based on what I want and need rather than a tiny human (who doesn’t need much but needs it all the time). 5 full days without having to keep down the fire burning inside my head, aka regulating my nervous system as best as possible. 5 full days.
I was even excited at the thought of having time to fix things: our broken vacuum cleaner, doing a few loads of laundry in a row, dropping a donation bag of clothes that’s been sitting in the car for the past 6 months. And of course, I’ve been excited about all the stuff that brings me joy and that is harder to do with a baby: going to the gym without having to rush home, watching a tv show during the day, having tea while it’s still hot and ice cream before it’s all melted.
As the date drew nearer, I started feeling sad and overwhelmed. The loads of laundry close to materializing didn’t seem as exciting as they had before. I wonder now, in hindsight, if all the housework I fantasize about being able to do in peace is simply the container for my current craving for independence. There isn’t much of my old life I have control over, least of all time. As a person without a baby, I don’t inherently care about having an empty laundry basket or a spotless kitchen. They are just the things I am projecting my frustrations on. Even cooking a meal from start to finish feels like the most luxurious thing to do after a long day with L: it is my small pleasure, a source of joy and peace when P takes over when he comes home after work.
Right now however, I don’t care about cooking a meal at all, it even seems boring and trivial that I ever did. Old Ely, now cohabiting with mother Ely for 120 hours, thinks: “What’s so special about cooking a meal? I can do it at any time. I can walk to the grocery store while listening to a podcast or music, put items in my tote bag without thinking about it, walk back home, start cooking, clean up and set the table when I am done. I can even have a fun solo dance party while I’m at it. Nothing complicated about this simple, everyday act.”
But Ely from earlier this week, that Ely thinks and feels entirely differently.
That Ely is the person who has spent the best part of a 24-hour day, for the past 11 months and 13 days, thinking of; worrying about; planning for a tiny, adult-dependent human, day and night, relentlessly, while still trying to navigate the realization that she is a mother now (and all the implications this 5-letter word carries) and also trying to keep herself fed hydrated clothed clean somewhat emotionally regulated and rested — if we just focus on the most basic needs of a human being.
(If that sentence felt long and you ran out of proverbial breath before you could get to the end, it’s because the days and months did.)
That Ely sees cooking a meal in peace with her favorite music on as the epitome of luxury. That act holds the care, love, and joy that she tries to give herself on a weekly basis — the way she used to with a yoga session or uninterrupted time to sit down and write at her computer.
So, on Thursday I drove P and L to the airport. I helped with check in, hugged them and teared up while I waved goodbye, L barely noticing that I was leaving, more interested in the escalators and the security person at the tills.
I follow them with my gaze all the way to security.
Bye my loves.
And so it begins.
My weekend alone.
I pass by Espresso House to get a coffee and a sandwich. Sit down in the car, put my sunglasses on. I am smiling, I realize, a smile full of relief and excitement: I am free.
It’s Saturday today and I realize now, that it is not the cooking or the unlimited gym session or the daytime tv-watching that I was most craving. It is space. Space to understand; to process; to hear myself think. Space to wonder and to take my time to decide what music to play. Space to let my feet guide me towards the cafe I am sitting at today instead of the one around the corner that I always go to. Space to have a proper, long conversation with a friend with 101% of my brain present instead of 50% here, the other 50 wondering when L will wake up from her nap and what we should do next and what will she eat when she’s hungry and right, yes, I was listening to you, what you were saying about the book you read was really interesting but no I am not sure what to reply to that because all my mental drawers are already full.
I have missed having this kind of clarity, where I can follow a train of thought for a few moments, let it go, pick it back up later, finish the thought, get to some sort of conclusion, and move on to the next topic I fancy thinking about. I’ve missed having brain space for life’s other questions, especially at this time when I’m about to celebrate a year into motherhood, switching from full time care work to what-will-I-do-next work. Yesterday I still couldn’t sleep well… But instead of anxiously wondering when L would wake up next or agonizing over the state of my WhatsApp, I was making long lists of who to message (old colleagues and clients), what to do with my inboxes (hit unsubscribe and delete all to start afresh?), and coming to terms with the fact that I am one of those multi-passionate, multi-hyphenated people just once again pondering their next career move.
Oh, well. I guess some things will never change.
Loved all of this. Every piece was so relatable. Especially the craving the clear space to finish thoughts all the way to completion. So vividly remember that feeling.
Big hug to you on almost completing year one with a tiny human!! It’s such a big year. Thank you for writing and sharing along the way! So very relatable.