Quiet, Please.

George and Claire went out together for a few hours yesterday. I was alone in the house. I let the obligations go. I listened to the blood rushing through my head, the heat circulating through the pipes, my breath's rhythm.

Silence like this is novel. It's quiet when my baby is asleep. But not silent. The absence of sound becomes filled with my anticipation of her cough, a bad dream, or a movement of some kind.

A mother's connection to her child makes a sound, even when her child naps.

Yesterday, I had free time. Free time. Let the words roll over your tongue slowly. Imagine not being hurried, not being needed, not feeing like you're stealing a moment for yourself.

Yesterday, I didn't want George and Claire to come home. I wanted to run away. I didn't want to have any responsibilities.

I write often about the way our identity changes when we become a mom, the reshuffle of priorities, the parts of ourselves that get put aside, because of the all-encompassing nature of being a parent. I don't write about my hatred for how these changes make me feel sometimes, or how I want to quiet the voices in my head.

You see, it's just that I don't want to choose between me and my daughter. I don't want to see my daughter as a chore. I don't want to have limits. I don't want solitude to get pushed aside. I want there to be more time and less obligations. I want my husband to take her more. You see, before Claire, there was more time. It all makes me so mad, I could jump up and down and throw a tantrum the likes of which even my daughter couldn't muster.

But, then, I feel guilty.

"I called my daughter a chore! How can I want to run away from my family?" I start to panic a bit, making up doomsday scenarios in my head. "What if they went away forever? That would serve me right." Self-recrimination sets in about now. "I need to just suck it up! I need to just be grateful for the time I have. I don't even work and I only have one kid; I don't have nearly as much on my plate as some people. What am I complaining about? I need to stop complaining!"

There are many truths. other than the ones in my head. I know that my feelings will pass. I know that I could not do without my daughter and husband for that long. I like that they need me. I need them too.

I also know that I really do need more time for myself. And that I'm probably not going to get it.

Yes, so many truths. Ones that refuse to be reconciled.


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Mommy and "Me Time"

I felt like I was having a long overdue spa day. My body relaxed into the contours of the chair. The lights on the ceiling called to me like spinning mandalas, pulsating with meditative energy. I sighed and surrendered myself to the lady taking care of…

My teeth.

Yes, I was at the dentist. I can’t say I ever imagined considering a teeth cleaning a luxurious treat. But having Claire has given the term “me time” a new meaning. These days I will take it where I can get it.

But, really, the dentist office as “me time”? It made me realize how much of the energy in the Demas household flows from me to Claire, and how I survive on fumes.

Which means that all is about as it should be with a 15 month old.

When I am my best self, I remember that one of the beautiful (albeit challenging) gifts of a child is the lesson of self-sacrifice. Generally, the act of giving comes easily, almost reflexively, with a child. What requires contemplation is the repercussion of resentment that can often follow -- especially when I feel tired, overwhelmed and lacking patience.

Sometimes, I need to remember that it's okay to metaphorically put on my oxygen mask first. Often, I must make a conscious effort to find time for me hidden in different places and smaller moments.

To the last bit, I can thank my daughter for giving me a fresh perspective about the much-maligned obligation of going to the dentist.


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