This week marked the first week back at preschool for little man since December 17th. And the first week where I had any sense of freedom in that time.
I down-tooled. Not a hoover was touched. Not washing pile tackled. I properly went on strike. Housework could wait. Cleaning would still be there. Those 15 funded hours of preschool fun for him was also about zero demands on me.
There was an eerie silence to my Monday. I ate with no one asking me to wipe their bum mid-chew. I drank coffee without having Lego-men launched at me. I lay on my bed without having to play hide-n-seek with frankly the world’s worst hide-n-seeker.
All the while I had the happy rings of Harry’s laughter in my ears as he’d run about with his friends whilst we queued for preschool. He needed this as much as I did.
Those almost-6 hours were really quite glorious. It’s submerged me in the self care I needed.
- I got a coffee from the van in the village. A heavenly, hot coffee. Just one. For me. I didn’t race home to deliver one to husband.
- I parked up at the forest to maximise my green time, ready for some forest bathing
- I plugged my ears in and began the adventures of an audio book I’d bought for the express purpose of me-time
- I soaked in the no-deadline dawdle around the familiar trails
- I chuckled as I successfully didn’t flash anyone when I went off-piste for a wild wee. Mums with no pelvic floor- raise your hands. Not my proudest moment but self care necessity #allclass
- I got home and prepared myself a healthy and fabulous lunch which I chowed down on as I watched a totes emosh and self-indulgent episode of MAFS
Not every preschool day will as pampered and precious. Far from it. I’ve a list of the deep clean jobs as long as my arm. But it was what the doctor ordered and has pressed my reset button.
How do you recharge a dwindling battery? This post was written as part of an Instagram #writingchallenge for March. Thanks to @talesfromthecrib for making me think, feel and write.