It's hard being under house arrest
"It's 3 p.m. where are you?"
My husband sounded like he was holding back anger.
"I'm on my way. I'll be home in five minutes. I was just walking around. There's traffic," my voice was strained. "I was just being alone! LEAVE ME ALONE."
After nearly seven months of having at least one child stuck to me - on the boob, around my leg, on my back if I'm lying in bed, on my shoulders, in my arms, picking at my hair - close to 24 hours a day, seven days a week.... I need a break.
I am to blame for rarely being able to set off on my own: Scarlett, even though she's eating food now, is exclusively breastfed and refuses to take a bottle. I never really introduced her to the synthetic nipple because breastfeeding was so easy. It let me sleep etc etc, blah blah.
But now, I can only leave the house for two, maybe three hours, before Scarlett turns on her O'Hara attitude and Ted wants to permanently banish me from Tara.
When the girl was newborn I could shlep her with me. Over the last few months that has become impossible - I mean, I'll breastfeed anywhere, but it's not fun to eat pho with an exhausted, wiggly andscreamy kid under your shirt. Ya know?
And, since she's decided to only nap in her crib - seriously, why did I do?! - I am confined to my home, sort of like a white collar criminal.
My den is nice and the kitchen's great too, but it's so pretty outside. And different. And there are things out there that don't look like my laundry basket or a frying pan. I want to see those things!!!
AND I want to NOT see any toys.
"Hudson, love, mommy wants you to turn off your monkey toy. It's annoying mommy."
"Screeeeeeeeeech," the monkey screeches.
"Hudson, sweetheart, turn it off."
Hudson TURN IT OFF NOW AND YOU ARE GETTING A TIME OUT."
Also, I want to enjoy the time I spend with my children. Instead of selfishly pining for time off and dreaming up activities for them that allow me to just sit, I want to feel good about having to pretend to be a crane or a dump truck or a human mountain my kids can scale.
So anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I need a break.
After I dragged Hudson to a toddler dance party Saturday morning (very cute, but my son didn't want to dance) and gave Ted some time to workout (he needs to be healthy, because I am clearly going nuts), I left the house.
I breezed past a rack of dresses in a Queen Street West store without having to take Scarlett's sock out of her mouth. I tried on a pair of pants without having to keep my screaming daughter from banging her head on the change room floor. I was wearing a shirt that stayed baby food free the whole time!
I ordered a coffee and stood in line without pushing a stroller back and forth frantically willing Scarlett to stop fussing.
I got carried away. Instead of two hours - I promised I'd be home so we could all do something as a family - I was gone for three.
Luckily, Ted understood.
"It's okay," he said, when I finally arrived home. "It's hard being under house arrest."