First, I just have to clarify that yes, I am losing my hair. And no, it is nothing to be alarmed about. It is the normal 4 months (for me) post partum hair shedding. When you're pregnant, your body holds on to the hair you would normally shed. Then, in a horrible twist of fate, just when you start to feel somewhat normal again--Not pregnant! Not breast feeding every hour! No impending stretch marks at the moment! Your body plays a mean trick on you by starting to shed all that hair. All at once. In clumps. And then you grow back that hair all at once so your entire hairline is ringed with one inch long bangs. Nothing makes me feel prettier than one inch bangs standing straight up on my head.
Now that we've cleared up that, back to our regular scheduled post: I am always amazed at how just a few simple hours out by myself can completely change my entire mindset. How it can turn frustrating into endearing, exhausting into rewarding. But somehow, some way, it does.
I had three blissful, glorious hours to myself today while a hired babysitter fed, entertained and put both kids down for naps. It was the first time Andrew has been left with a paid sitter who wasn't a friend or relative. He only drank about 1 once of his bottle. But, I guess he was tired enough that it didn't matter. He did fine.
Meanwhile, I was gloriously frolicking about town. I was browsing the cosmetics aisle, actually reading labels and looking at new products (mascara! with shimmer!) without jiggling a stroller with one leg and wrangling a pre-schooler with one arm. I was dropping giant infant gear off at a consignment shop (Bye bye swing! Nice knowing you! You owe me $532 in batteries.) I was picking up dry cleaning and getting my eyebrows waxed and running into 234 different stores without ever having to unbuckle someone else from the car and without ever saying, "We're almost done. Hold on. Please stop touching that." Without feeding anyone except myself. Without listening to whining, or Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer CD for the gazillionth time. I felt like a real person. Me.
Later, when Becca woke up from her nap, all pink-cheeked and bleary eyed, I was thrilled to see her, instead of looking at the clock and groaning. When Andrew didn't want to sleep in his crib and fell asleep on me, I was shamelessly sniffing the top of his head.
It seems we need to write a new bill. Full-time moms should all get an automatic and pre-scheduled morning every week when they can go be themselves. Now, how do we get that signed into law?
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