One Man's Troubles...

My dear older brother came home today. He currently resides in the U.S. where he received his Ph.D. in Mathematics a couple years ago. Craziness. Go him! So glad to have him home.
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It came to be that he had twelve hours to kill at the airport before his flight took off from Dulles.
He described this as somewhat of a nuisance.
I describe this as a dream.
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Twelve hours, that's half a whole day, to kick around doing jack shit.
Twelve hours to wander aimlessly through a terminal, eat a burger, buy a magazine and then have time to read said magazine. Or four.
Twelve hours to nap, wake up, get a coffee, nap again.
Twelve hours during which no one is looking for you, cause everyone knows you're in that no-man's land called an airport.
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By your.self.
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Which brings us to the most sought-after, highly unattainable commodity in the kingdom of motherhood.

Time to Yourself.

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Granted, I am currently nursing an almost three month old babe, so I'm on the extreme end of this short time-no-time spectrum, but still.
I have not been by myself for more than three hours in the last three months. Three hours people. And you know what I was doing those three hours? I was at the doctor's, doing my best to keep my boobs from exploding.
Is this a complaint?
Not quite. It's a fact of life in the kingdom of motherhood.
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Time to yourself, if you're lucky enough to snatch some, is strictly limited.
It starts somewhere between 7 and 8 in the morning, and ends somewhere around 2 to 5 in the afternoon. Non-negotiable. 5 to 6 days a week.
If you're not running errands/folding laundry/sick/washing dishes/all of the above, you might be able to squeeze in a coffee, maybe even one with caffeine, and if you're really lucky, you might even be able to drink this coffee in a coffee shop, while sitting down. With a friend? Hah! Chances are your friend is working/running errands/at home with a sick kid/folding laundry/all of the above.
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Potential opportunities for Time to Yourself include:
The shower (at midnight when you can barely make out the shampoo from the toothpaste).
The car (while speeding to make it to daycare on time).
The supermarket (if you've juggled it just so that you don't have an antsy overly tired kid haggling you in the cart).
Make it count.
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As it is, if your kingdom of motherhood is inhabited by tiny humans, chances are you're out of luck.
Time to Yourself, see you again somewhere around year 60 to 70.
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