Two Little Hours
I had my first cup of caffeine in six months this morning, thinking it would help me make it though the morning. Somehow, after 6 month of decaf, I didn't realize how crabby and wired I'd be after one cup of tea. (Oh, and waking earlier than I usually do.) However, that soon came to light when Joe, who had slept in for two hours, complained about how the cat woke him a few times early this morning. Now, I'm not sure about this, but I think a wee little part of me kinda wanted to smack him. Not that I would. It was the caffeine talking, I'm sure of it.
If any guys are reading this, listen up: When you wake up in the morning and see that bleary-eyed mama in the bed next to you, have the good courtesy NOT TO COMPLAIN about any animal waking you. Even repeatedly waking you. That bleary-eyed mama goddess has been multitasking in her sleep, dreaming the demented (often the "where the hell did I put that baby?" dreams), listening for the baby, nursing the wee one not once but 3-4 times before sunrise, staying awake enough to make sure baby doesn't lose the nipple and suck a hickey onto her boob, and then trying to make sure she really doesn't have to go to the bathroom before going back to sleep because, god forbid, if she gets up, it's going to be next to impossible to get back to sleep again for an hour or so. And she might wake the baby in the process of getting up. Oh, and her body is making milk. So you see, she's not really getting much time off. So if the cat or dog or the squeaky hamster wheel annoys you in between snores, please wait until we've had a cup of decaf, or say, dinner and a glass of wine, before complaining about it. We will be in a much better mood and not want to tell you, in unsparing detail, how freaking lucky you are.
All that said, I proposed to take a couple hours to myself today. Joe was fabulous and agreed, but it was difficult to figure out what I wanted to do. Decided to go for a short walk to clear my head out, only to discover how frustrated my efforts are. I thought about gardening, but my gloves are destroyed and I forgot to get new ones this weekend. I thought I might do some sewing, but some furniture needs to be moved before I can access my sewing machine again. I thought about working on some thank you cards, but I'm not in a particularly grateful mood. I thought I might sit on the back porch and drink a gin and tonic and stare out into space but my backyard would just chastise me for its sad state of neglect. You cannot mother a backyard and a child, and besides, I'm out of limes, which are really essential for a g&t.
So, like the compulsive writer that I am, I wind up here, smacking out the letters, hoping to feel like I've done something worthwhile in my two hours. Perhaps I'll do some writing on a piece I've been working on about giving positive attention for neutral behavior. Perhaps I'll try to load up the ipod with the last couple of albums I've picked up. It's so hard to decide, but I do know this...I've got one more precious hour to go and I can't waste it.
I sometimes wonder if it's more work to have this time available, more frustrating to figure out how to use time when it's so precious, than to not have it at all. I'm sure I'm examining the teeth of the gift horse here, but really...it feels a little like that question "You are on a desert island with a stereo and only five records. Which records do you take?" It seems to be more pressure than the occasion should reasonably warrant. When you have only two hours to yourself out of a whole week, it kind of feels this way.
But I get an intermission. Baby needs a milk fix. So I'll post this, milk baby up, and go do something else. Heaven knows what.....