Half an Hour

Last night, Himself had to work until 8, and I had an engagement downtown with him after that. Since it was Thursday, and Miss Jan sits for free on Thursdays, we opted to leave Baby Girl at Miss Jan's until after our downtown engagement.

Which meant that from the time I got off at 5ish to the time I left to go downtown at 7:40, I didn't have to pick up, cook for, change, clean up after anyone. I now know what my mom felt like on the first day of school before she went back to work.

Of course, I did have to go grocery shopping. It was surreal.

I didn't have to wear a Snugli. There was no apologies as I wandered up and down the refrigerated section for it being too cold for Baby Girl. Himself wasn't there to add extra things to the basket every time I turned my back, throwing off my carefully tuned list and shocking me when the amount was $50 over what I had calculated in my head. Then again, I nearly caught myself talking to myself - as I talk to Baby Girl when I grocery shop, pointing out interesting things, musing about brands, lamenting the lack of Asian produce.

I threw the groceries in the car and drove home. I unloaded them and turned on NPR while I put them away. No one demanded attention, food or that I please consider listening to something else.

And then, I had half an hour to myself. I made a light dinner, finished the NPR program and thought, "my day is so much longer with just me in it."

Later on, when I picked Baby Girl up and brought her home to put her in bed, I sat and held her in the dark stillness, breathed in the smell of her baby skin as she snuggled next to me and sighed.

Half an hour was glorious. But as the day ended, I was happy to have my arms full and warm again.