Carving out a space in my life that’s mine, where I’m more than an extension of my favourite person on the planet. That’s been my project of the last six months, the half a year since my son turned four.
Why didn’t I do this before, I hear you ask? Not all of us are JK f-ing Rowling. Not that I have anything against her. I’m well impressed that she managed to write Harry Potter while single-parenting a pre-verbal ‘bundle of joy’. But it’s actually pretty hard to divide your attention when you’re frequently, without warning, being called upon to play with, clean, comfort and feed a small one. Now that O can dress and entertain himself, I’m a little freer. Plus, now he’s at school, I have SIX CHILD-FREE DAYTIME HOURS A WEEK!
So what have I done with this new found space? I’ve taken up running! Yes that’s right, twice a week I now engage in that classic marker of early middle-age. I realised I’d finally (and I do mean finally) become ‘that person’ while actually enjoying a hungover run in drizzle (yes, drizzle). Shiiiiiit.
As if that’s not depressing enough, I’ve discovered that I now opt to use the couple of hours O will amuse himself on a Sunday afternoon teaching myself to cook!!! I’m not entirely sure why I haven’t just phoned a Swiss clinic and cut out the inevitable.
Promise that I will talk about both these past times, and the joy of time to myself, in future posts. It’s just that I’m 34 in 44 days and I’m kind of bricking it.