Rhonda here, taking my turn at the Mommy Confessions. I have a lot of shit to confess, but we will start here.
I knew my entire life that I wanted to be a mother. I always knew it would be part of my life. I looked forward to reading to my children, making them healthy lunches, and playing games with them (HA! Joke is on me, because here’s a mini-confession for you…I hate doing ALL those things). I knew that parenting wouldn’t be a big walk in the park, of course. As a child playing House, I would role-play not just the rocking my baby to sleep, but also the yelling at my toddler to PLEASE be quiet and take a nap. One thing I didn’t expect for when I had children is that I just might spend a large amount of my time yearning for them to go Grandma’s, go play in the other room, go to the store with Daddy, go to bed…. Just GO.
I am in the first few days of a two-week period with no children. They are at their dad’s house until after Father’s Day. I can’t tell you how I have excitedly waited for this week. Oh, the solitude! Wandering every aisle at Target, getting some work done at Starbucks, aimlessly weaving in and out of shop doors, deep cleaning the kitchen for four hours, being naked when I want, watching TV on the couch instead of in my room. It’s glorious. Of course, there is also that whole thing where I get to spend quality time with Stuart. The thing is, he works super long days so I am getting lots of Rhonda Time. I ain’t mad at it. I have always been a person who needs some time alone to do whatever I feel like doing.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I know the old cliché is kinda true – The days are long, but the years are short. Parents spend so much of the day watching the clock and not enough time soaking up the moments. I know I for sure am so guilty of that. I fully recognize that one day, I will miss them being needy and totally into me. I will miss a tiny boy climbing into my bed to tell me I’m her best friend. Supposedly, I will someday miss my house being a wreck (not fucking likely).
Here’s the thing, though… my real confession is that I don’t give a single fucking fuck what you think about how much I enjoy being away from my children. I love it. I love the hell out of it. I am not sorry. I could just about cry for joy when I wake up in the morning and realize I can go get coffee without tiptoeing around, trying not to wake someone before I can drink my sweet nectar of the gods.
People always have a comment about what other parents do and this certainly is no exception. When learning that my kids would be gone for 15 days and that I was making all sorts of plans, people have said, “Oh wow, I couldn’t stand to be away from kids for that long” or something to that effect. And it’s always said with a tone that suggests that I am not on their parenting level because I don’t want a small person up my ass all day every day. If that’s you and you enjoy that, then more power to you! You go, Mama. (But also, you can’t complain that you haven’t worn makeup or gone on a date in 12 years – that was your choice.)
So yes, I am going to enjoy these days with my children left in the beyond capable hands of their father. I’ll be a better mother for it.