I was in labor with Rachel for over 34 hours. It was awful. And the nine months that preceded that were no picnic either. For being such a trooper I deemed myself worthy of a new purse and even found one on the clearance shelf. The first time I used it the zipper broke and I can still remember gasping in horror and disgust. Clearly a second attempt at a proper reward was necessary.
I had high hopes for yesterday. I planned to get a one-hour massage and then go home and do nothing or, if I so desired, work on a few fun projects. I envisioned myself sitting at the dining room table with a cat on my lap and another one at my feet while I typed away in an otherwise silent house…for two whole hours. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? I think so.
Here’s how my afternoon went instead:
1:58 PM: My cell phone rings, it’s Jake. “Honey, I got off work early. Can you come get me when you’re done?”
Me: “ugggghhhhHHHHH. Really? Can’t you just wait and come home later as planned?”
A few choice words later I agreed to pick him up as long as he promised not to talk at all until 5:30. That didn’t actually happen but he tried his best to be extra sweet for the rest of the afternoon.
2:00 PM – 3:00 PM: Pure bliss except, of course, for the two chatty ladies who were parked right outside the room for 30 minutes.
4:45 PM: After running some errands and collecting all of my supplies I finally sat down to enjoy what was left of my "reward" day.
The child came home 45 minutes later and my heart sank because my perfect afternoon was officially over. Perhaps my two semi-failed attempts equal the satisfaction receieved by one perfect one.