Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
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The Elusive Aloneness

I put Violet down for her nap. The relief rushes through my bloodstream like heroin because I know I'm guaranteed at least thirty minutes to myself. Oh, the luxurious luxury of Alone Time. I sayest unto you: revel in your aloneness, ye without children! French kiss your aloneness and I also sayest unto thou: have sex with your aloneness. This, I command you.

Oh, forget it, I know my plea will fall on deaf ears because I was once you and, like perky pre-baby tits, took my aloneness for granted. I sometimes even lamented my aloneness. Now, being alone is a precious commodity and I find myself repeating the stereotypical shit Moms are prone to mumbling, uttering, screaming in their heads. JUST GIVE ME ONE MINUTE ALONE! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY! ONE GODDAMN MINUTE TO MYSELF!

In the desire for that ever elusive minute I spend ten trying to get Violet all settled in her playpen even just so I can avail myself of our bathroom facilities in peace. Sign Language video that makes me want to rip my fingernails out if I hear that fucking song one more time - CHECK. Bottle - CHECK. Binky for when she's sick of the bottle - CHECK. Finally, she's satisfied. And the minute my bare ass cheeks kiss the toilet seat there are the dogs, pawing and whining at the door because God forbid they be left out of anything, even staring at me wistfully whilst I relieve myself. YOU JUST PEED OUTSIDE. IT'S MY TURN. WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, MOTHERFUCKERS? Still, they stare. Stare harder, even.

Sometimes? The only thing helping you hold your motherly shit together is the next naptime. Like a cracked out junkie you long for that naptime fix, covet it even while you squeak excitedly to your child in that baby voice you can't help but slip into because she's just so fucking cute. Look out the window, isn't that neat? There goes a car. Vroom-vroom. There's a doggy, what does the doggy say. Ruff ruff! And what does the kitty say? Meow. Yes and what does the birdie say? Autopilot, all while you're having a dirty, kinky threeway with aloneness and naptime in your head. Yeah, naptime, you dirty whore, right there! Yes, yes, YEEESSS!

So yeah. Naptime. The motherhood drug of choice. But that sexy naptime relief doesn't come without a price. A healthy dose of guilt. Guilt that matches the enormity of the relief. The relief I feel upon bidding my daughter sweet dreams morphs into big, stinking guilt that clings to my body like a raging case of B.O.

Man, you guys. This motherhood thing is so confusing. Especially when I hear that first post-nap squawk over the monitor. I'm immediately a little disappointed that Me Time is over but with the very next breath I'm so anxious to peek around her bedroom door and watch her little face light up when she sees me and does her excited little snorts I can't hardly contain myself.