It’s Saturday night, Cordy is upstairs asleep, and I’m sitting downstairs alone. It’s days like this I feel chained to this house and a handmaiden to Her Royal 3ft. Highness.
This weekend, there is a 24 hr. science-fiction movie marathon in town. Aaron has gone to this every year since he was a kid, so of course he must be there. I don’t know if he’d even be willing to leave if I went into labor, because, let’s face it – the movie marathon was a part of his life long before I was. I can’t blame him – he and the marathon are only a few years from their Silver Anniversary.
In our child-free years, I loved going with him to the movie marathon each year. It’s a fun mix of good sci-fi movies combined with a lot of cheesy B-movies from the 40’s and 50’s, sprinkles with some short-subject features in-between. In other words, it’s a geek’s paradise. Once Cordy was born, it was more difficult for me to keep going, because we had a baby that needed cared for. I missed one entirely, and the other I went to the daytime part of the marathon, but then had to go home for the overnight part of it to relieve the babysitter.
This year, we bought a ticket for me, but it looks like I don’t get to spend much time there at all. My mom was my babysitter, but decided that she was only staying until 4pm today. The marathon started at noon, and I had to work until 1pm today, so I saw a grand total of half a movie. My aunt has agreed to watch Cordy tomorrow morning, so I can go back and watch the very last movie tomorrow morning.
As I was expressing my disappointment to my mom, she sighed and said to me, “Tough luck. You’ve got a kid now, so you can’t just go out and do shit like this anymore.” The words stung as much as a slap in the face. This was the first time she’s said it so matter-of-factly. When it comes to work or other important things, my family is always willing to help with babysitting, but when I ask them to watch Cordy so Aaron and I can do something fun, I’m often met with an unsaid disapproval, as if I no longer should have the right to do anything fun.
I know that having kids means sacrifice. You can’t do as much as you used to, you have more responsibility, blah, blah, blah. But I don’t remember signing away my entire freedom as a human being when I became a mom. And I don’t feel like I should have to give up everything that makes me “me” just because I’ve added the title of “mommy”.
I already feel like a shell of my former self – in discussing hobbies with Aaron last night, it occurred to me that he still has several hobbies that he enjoys, while I can barely think of any that I still do. Oh sure, there’s blogging, and every now and then I’ll break out my knitting. But if I had to make a list of my interests right this minute, it would be a pretty small list compared to the list I could have made 5-7 years ago.
Believe me, I hate asking people to babysit. I’m aware that no one finds Cordy as charming as we do, and I always feel guilty asking friends or family to give up their free time to sit at our house while Cordy pesters them for “Bwue’s Baby Bwudder?” and “ice cweam!” Because of this, date nights and time away are carefully considered before asking anyone. I do understand that as parents we can’t run out to dinner and a show anytime we want, and we try to balance our need to get out with our responsibilities.
But sometimes that hollow feeling inside of me reaches a near-vacuum state, forcing me to get out and do something fun with friends or (gasp!) spend time with my husband as a couple and not just as parents. And if I’m denied the chance to ease that emptiness, the darkness of depression flows over me and I’m left stuck at home in tears, resenting being a parent even though I know deep down that I’d never want to give up being a parent for anything.
It’s not like I want to go out to wild parties every weekend. Just a little time here and there would be nice. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. And I don’t think it’s fair to believe that parents have no right to do something fun now and then because they have a child. Who can live under the pressure of being all mommy, all the time?
Do you ever, occasionally, miss the freedom from your child-free days? How do you keep your own identity from being lost in mommydom?
