For the last few days, I’ve been pretending I’m a stay at home mom. My daycare provider went out of town, so I played hooky from work on Thursday and Friday to be…well, mom. And you know what? It was lovely.
Not that she was an angel. As a matter of fact, she’s been in full on grumposaurus mode all weekend. Between the shots on Thursday and the two teeth that are working their way through her gums, she’s been a crabby mess.
But she was my crabby mess. I didn’t have to bundle her sobbing little body into her car seat and hand her off to someone else to take care of. I didn’t have to wonder if she was eating, or sleeping, or if she was just fussing her way through the day.
Nope. I was there to dry her tears, coax her into eating and tease her out of her grumpiness (temporarily). We read books, played drums and endless games of peekaboo. We napped on the couch, played in the rain and danced in the living room.
I even got some laundry done.
Best of all, the semi-permanent knot between my shoulders began to dissipate. For once, I didn’t have to split my focus, or try to do two things at once. I could just be with Tori. It was refreshing.
I had forgotten how much your pace changes—slows, really—when your primary responsibility is caring for your baby. I’m guessing when you do it every day, it could start to drive you nuts, but I didn’t mind. Not one bit. To be perfectly cheesy, all that one-on-one time with my daughter was balm for my soul.
I only wish I could have more days like that. But that’s not in the cards for this working mama. So instead, I’ll just be grateful for the time I do get…and be sure to schedule myself as many four day weekends as possible next year.