First Night On My Own
Speaking of me-time, I just spent my first 24 hours without Cal, or David. Yesterday I, fairly rudely, chased them out of the house and gave them orders not to come back for 24 whole hours. Don't worry, they didn't spend the night sleeping rough, far from it, they headed to casa-Cohen-de-Lara for the night where they were no-doubt pampered, fed and adored.
I put on some tinkly piano jazz, the kind they play in hotel lobbies and fancy department stores, and flew around the house packing away baby toys, bottles and blenders. And then I sat. I watched the sun on the floorboards and Saturday bikers rushing past on the street below. I could feel the day as one continuous piece of time stretched before me, unlike mama-time which is fragmented into 12 minute pieces, that jumble together unevenly to form a day.
I showered and rode into town. I immersed myself in the task of finding a bed blanket, my hands dipped in lambswool and cashmere for most of the morning. Somehow the task transformed into perfume sampling and I finished the day covered in freesia, jasmine and bergamot. I bought a blanket and left the perfume, head throbbing from the combination of continuous decision-making that a day of shopping involves, and the sticky mix of perfumes.
I ate leftover bolognaise, watched a terrible Jennifer Aniston Flick and was in bed by nine. I was terrified that I would have performance insomnia and be left awake, blinking at the ceiling as my window for baby-free sleep slipped past. Instead, I slept for almost 12 hours and woke up to more sun on the floorboards and a quiet Sunday street.
I put on some tinkly piano jazz, the kind they play in hotel lobbies and fancy department stores, and flew around the house packing away baby toys, bottles and blenders. And then I sat. I watched the sun on the floorboards and Saturday bikers rushing past on the street below. I could feel the day as one continuous piece of time stretched before me, unlike mama-time which is fragmented into 12 minute pieces, that jumble together unevenly to form a day.
I showered and rode into town. I immersed myself in the task of finding a bed blanket, my hands dipped in lambswool and cashmere for most of the morning. Somehow the task transformed into perfume sampling and I finished the day covered in freesia, jasmine and bergamot. I bought a blanket and left the perfume, head throbbing from the combination of continuous decision-making that a day of shopping involves, and the sticky mix of perfumes.
I ate leftover bolognaise, watched a terrible Jennifer Aniston Flick and was in bed by nine. I was terrified that I would have performance insomnia and be left awake, blinking at the ceiling as my window for baby-free sleep slipped past. Instead, I slept for almost 12 hours and woke up to more sun on the floorboards and a quiet Sunday street.
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| 12 hours of glorious sleep happened here |
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