The Audacity
The three of us—my husband, our headstrong 21-month-old, and I—are in our rhythm, our groove. Otto sleeps through the night (finally, blessedly), and Matt and I have found it easier to rise early, often squeezing in two full hours of uninterrupted work before the little tsar wakes up. His predictable, chunky daily naps have breathed new life into my weary bones, affording me more than enough time to eat lunch in peace, tie up loose ends in my work day, and maybe—if I’m really lucky, squeeze in a work-out and/or zone out in front of the television (depending on the day and mood). It’s been…nice. Almost too nice.
I’ve begun daydreaming about old hobbies—playing the piano, yoga, reading books at coffee shops—and even potential new ones—tennis, Spanish lessons, ballet. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I tell myself as I pick goldfish crumbs off the rug. Before I can go confidently in the direction of my daydreams, I should probably use this free time to get a few life things in order.
That brings us to last Tuesday. I took the morning off work, thinking I could squeeze in a long overdue dentist appointment AND be back in time to take Otto to Toddler Time at the library—the only weekly event where Otto actually gets to interact with other children. Matt usually takes him, as per our designated schedule (I work mornings, Matt gets the afternoons), but I’ve been experiencing severe fomo and wanted to take him this week. But I needed to do all of this before an 11 am meeting.
8 am, at the dentist. I underestimated how long it had been. Sparing the details…I was in the chair for a while. The last time I’d been there I was pregnant, if that tells you anything. Needless to say, we missed Toddler Time. When I finally made it home—gums inflamed, jaw aching, Matt had Otto dressed and ready to go, but that ship had sailed.
Determined to have some quality time with my son, I loaded him up and we went for ice cream. Yes—it’s 10 am at this point. Too early for ice cream but also only an hour from my work meeting. This wasn’t my most responsible moment, but any mother who has watched their baby slip away more everyday while a roaring toddler takes over will understand: these moments are fleeting.
10:15 am. Dairy Queen. Sharing a booth, ice cream running down Otto’s chin. The smile, the joy. Thank you mama, he says with a gentle head nod.
I did it, I thought, I salvaged the morning.
10:30 am. Parking lot. With Otto in my arms, I tried and failed to open our car door. After several attempts I understood…I’ve locked my key in the car. It began to rain. Otto and I dashed back inside Dairy Queen.
You’re probably thinking, no big deal, have Matt pick you up or bring you the spare key. And you’d usually be right. But we’ve only got the one car and the one key. We’ve been playing fast and loose with transportation. So I had no choice but to wait for the tow guy who was an hour away. I was trapped, in a Dairy Queen, with a toddler who’d just had ice cream.
I missed my meeting.
I don’t want to belabor the point here, because by now I’m sure you get it. I thought I had it handled, I thought I had everything under control. I thought we could handle a shake-up to our routine. And we did, to a certain extent. Everything was fine by the end of the day. Otto never knew we missed Toddler Time. We got the car unlocked and made it home. My coworkers were understanding. My teeth are clean—no cavities.
But the feeling of defeat, failing Otto and failing my coworkers, was just so achingly prevalent that morning. Will I ever get this balance right? Will there always be days when I let everyone down just a little—including myself? What’s the answer here? Where do we put our focus? So much has to be done, but the days slip by so quickly. Is this the infinite dilemma facing moms? Will we always feel lacking of some sort or another?
Not every day is like this—guilt-ridden and time-sensitive. But when these days pop up (and they do, like a game of Whac-a-Mole), they are enough to make me scoff at the version of myself who daydreams of hobbies-yet-to-come. To think I thought I could learn Spanish. Qué ingenua.
