My best friend once gave me this advice: as soon as you become a mom, bury your old life. Give it a nice funeral. Grieve but kiss it goodbye. It's gone.
Five years and two kids later, I haven't really taken that advice. I'm still grasping at vestiges of my old self, the one that did what she wanted, when she wanted.
So when my family scheduled a ski trip to Lake Tahoe, the best part of the plan was that the first three days wouldn't include me. Three whole days on my own -- no kids, no husband, no responsibilities. The mere thought made me giddy.
I had big plans, oh yes I did. I would nap, excessively. I would finish reading the thigh-high stack of books and magazines shrieking at me for months, if not years. I would stay up late, sleep in and feel not one ounce of regret for the wine-induced hangover. What had prevented me from doing this before, I knew, was that I just didn't have the time. And now I would have it, guilt-free.
Turns out that wasn't the obstacle to the promised land of read, sleep and imbibe. I was lonely without my family. Desperate for conversation, I ran to meet the postman at my mail box each day. I had lively chats with telemarketers who called our home. I phoned my own parents, repeatedly. Soon, they simply avoided my calls rather than be stalked. I reorganized everything in the house. I found myself playing "Who can hold a gaze longest" with my dog. He won.