"Me Time"...it's a concept perfectly alien and incredibly desirable to a mother of small children. Not that I don't get a few stolen minutes every now and then, like running to the grocery store for a forgotten onion in soup-splattered sweats after my husband gets home from work. However, it is not exactly what I would call revitalizing. It's more like a workout involving produce. "Me time" is something we dream about while wearing our hubby's t-shirts sporting spit up and Enfamil (hey, if it dries before you change, why bother?) and during attempts to shower while your toddler redecorates your bathroom in a Charmin/H2O motif. It usually involves a steaming mug of caramel machiatto, the latest issue of Cosmo, and a low-carb danish all while you're wrapped up in some incredibly sexy and stylish, yet comfortable, outfit in a size 8 or less. Sounds great, huh? Of course "Me Time" varies from person to person and even from mood to mood, but it's always there, this entity awaiting you sometime in the future, enticing you to just hang on.
So, on that first day of "school", after taking a zillion pictures of your kids grasping their new lunchboxes on your front porch and peeling your toddler off your shirt, you find yourself sitting in your car and all of a sudden, it hits you. This is the moment you have been waiting for for two years. There are no restrictions on what you can do for the next four hours. A smile crosses your face as you drive on over to Barnes and Noble. About halfway there, however, you realize you are not wearing a new outfit...just your Gap blue jeans and that shirt with the mystery stain you consider "hidden" in the seam. "Oh well" you tell yourself, "I'll go shopping next time." As you read the menu in the Starbucks section you do your best to order like a professional, realizing too late that there is no such thing as a "medium". You blush a little and smile, laughing off your ignorance and silently wondering when drink sizes began being measured in height. Eventually you settle in with your coffee and magazine, ready to begin the process of depressurization. As you begin to read all about what men wish you knew about sex and the newest way to work out your Kegels, you wonder if your toddler has settled down and whether or not your 4 year old is making new friends. Suddenly, learing how to achieve multiple orgasms in the middle of a national chain bookstore starts to lose its appeal. You realize you are trying to recapture something that has no chance of resurrection. It's like attempting to recreate kindergarten in college. Dick and Jane were fascinating when you were five, but they can't be the topic of your graduate thesis. Gradually, you put the magazine back and walk out, carrying your "tall" cup of coffee with you. As you drive on home, your favorite Dave Mathews song comes on the radio and you roll down your window, letting your hair blow out the window along with your expectations.
The next time Mother's Day Out rolls around, you make your own coffee and curl up on your couch with a book, write in your journal, or browse the aisles at Target. At 12:30, you walk into the preschool eagerly anticipating your children running to you with their arms open, ready to hear all about fingerpainting and the new sandbox. You have had a few hours to yourself and in that time you have rediscovered who that self is. Without me, "Me Time" is nothing but time.
Besides, you have been having multiple orgasms for years.
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