Me Time

It was yesterday. Yesterday after she woke up an hour early. After a shower that ended to the sound of wailing. After fussiness that continued post-feeding, post-napping, and post-diapering. After all this that I sent a text message to my husband.

She's been fussy all morning except her 1 hr nap... i demand a raise

My husband, who negotiates contracts for a living, wrote back: Fine. What are your demands?

Thinking that I might be walking into a trap, I took a chance and wrote the following: Groceries. dinner at outback. 2 - no 3! hours to myself in a row. and u vaccuum this weekend.

I was dreaming; I knew this. I knew it was too much. That I was pushing the envelope so to speak. That there was no way he would respond positively. And yet, that's why it was over the top. Perhaps it would appear so cute that he would shake his head in that 1950s TV sitcom kind of way -- as if to say, "Oh the wife! What a character she is!" I was thrown off by his one word text back.
Done.

WHAT??? Done??? Is this a joke? Is he luring me with promises only to rescind when I think he's being serious in what I could only imagine would be a cruel joke, funny to him and the other men in his office. DONE! In the words of Cousin Eddie: Are you serious, Clark?

I decided to test the waters with the following: And starbucks?

Yep, that's right, I went for the hat trick. I stared into the storm ahead and kept on going. If he was kidding, what did I have to lose. And if he was genuinely being serious, well, I was about to hit one out of the park.

His reply was quick and short: Sure.

Confused, I sent numerous text messages questioning his sincerity. To which he replied, Hey, you've done a lot. You deserve some met demands.

This silenced me. Completely and utterly quieted my often loud and opinionated self. Yes, I thought, I have done a lot. I do deserve some met demands. Making sure to let him know how much I appreciated this, I wrote I think that's the sweetest thing you couldve said to me.

Re-energized, I took my fussy child for a walk, during which she calmed and even dozed. I bought myself lunch at a sandwich shop (unfortunately the lunchtime crowd thronged the local Starbucks which just barely accommodates our bulky jogging stroller). It didn't faze me when Olivia woke up at this point, barring me from relaxing al fresca with my salad. I just headed home, thinking about my demands and the promise of their fulfillment.

Of course, then Olivia refused to nap more than 30 minutes. Then I spilled 80 mL of pumped milk. Then the fussiness started again. Then I was rattled, shaken from my usual attempt to remain a patient and loving mother. Thankfully, divine intervention occurred sometime around 4pm, and naps dominated the early evening for everyone.

As for those demands - well, we still don't have groceries, and our dinner was Bertucci's, not Outback. Our floors have yet to see a vacuum cleaner (but to be fair, we still have tomorrow). But, those 3 hours that I had to myself this morning... those three, long, glorious hours of uninterrupted Me Time? Those were some of the most amazing hours of my life. I read a magazine, had adult conversation, got a pedicure, did light shopping (meaning I had to return something but got something else to take its place), and sipped on a Grande Non-Fat No Water Chai with One Pump Mocha. I called home once. Frank sounded flustered. Are you ok? He replied shortly I guess I'm gonna have to be. When I pressed for more information, he responded I'm just trying to hold the baby and balance the phone.

Oh, that's all. For one brief moment, I almost fretted. Then I took another sip.