Being alone. 

Being alone is totally underrated. 

In fact, not only is it underrated, it has negative connotations attached to it in a single descriptive term — lonely. 

As I walk through this city, either pushing a stroller, holding a little hand, or both, I see people everywhere just minding their own. Sitting, reading, contemplating… and I think … 

“You fucking selfish bastards!”. 

Now of course these innocent people are by no means really being selfish nor are they bastards (that I know of), it is just me being jealous with a wicked case of sour grapes. 

What I REALLY want to say to them is, “RELISH IT!!” 

because, as you all know, even with children sleeping, 

you’re NEVER REALLY ALONE. 

And as with everything else, you never appreciate something until it’s gone. (Kinda like that nice long hair of yours you cut off when you had the baby ’cause it seemed ‘easier’). 

Getting in alone time as a mother IS possible, it’s just ELUSIVE…. almost as elusive as date-night. 

Sometimes you have to plan it and sometimes you’re just plain lucky, but for the most part, even if you’re counting on it, here comes that jerkoff Murphy’s Law and suddenly — poof… gone. 

It’s a hard feeling to explain, this wanting to be by one’s self; 

it’s not that we don’t want to be with our children nor is it that we want to go crazy and dance on top of some friggin bar somewhere (although……..? nahhhh). 

I think it’s just a yearning to belong to ourselves once again. 

A recharge. 

A small moment of time when we are who WE are — not a mother, a wife, a worker. 

I know this accompaniment is not forever, and one day my kids will grow up, go to school, and eventually be on their own, affording me all the alone time I could ever possibly dream of. 

And I’m sure when THAT happens, I’ll be wishing for these hectic days back — but for now, I’m going to go cling on to my:

 

Pseudo-solitary-I’m-pretending-to-take-a-shit-so-I-can-lock-myself-in-the-bathroom-and-at-least-imagine-I’m-alone-time.

Goodnight.