Escape

I’m blogging from Starbucks, watching the university crowd move back in. (Have you noticed, suddenly, everyone is wearing their fall clothes? With wee little purses you could never fit a diaper / wipes / change pad / outfit change / books / rattle into …)

Anyhow … I’m drinking a grande nonfat latte, I’m wearing lipstick, and my shirt has no spit on it. The freedom! Miss Baby is at home with The Dada, who shipped me out for some quiet time because I was having something of a meltdown – nothing dramatic, just low-grade simmering frustration and bad moodedness.

Here’s what I’m thinking about: people always say how important it is to take some time away from your baby, so that you can recharge and refresh in order, essentially, to come back as a better mother. So the ‘break’ is not really a break, because it’s really intended to gear you up for more mothering. I guess I buy into this too, because I’ll say things like, ‘when I get an hour to myself in a coffee shop with the Sunday paper, I’m really glad to see Miss Baby again when I get home.’

But you know what? Sometimes I’m just really glad to read the paper, with no one hanging off my boob.

I wonder if that makes me a bad mommy.