Last week somewhere between finding lost socks and transporting children to endless activities I was struck by a thought (just one, my crowded mind can’t cope with more than that at the moment).
I realised I’ve got no memory of life before children.
Is it some sort of parental dementia designed to help your fragile brain cope with the post-traumatic onslaught of raising children?
I simply cannot remember what I DID with all that time I had on my hands.
When every waking hour wasn’t devoted to the care and needs of others how did I fill those endless hours of “me” space?
In a second between arguing about who was going to feed the dog and creating a meal out of left-overs (I’m turning the spag bol into chilli con carne just adding a can of beans and a sprinkle of curry powder – see it’s a completely different meal) I wondered what life will look like when it’s just me and Mr Shambles rattling around in this big unfinished house.
What will the conversations be when they no longer revolve around finding money for braces, who’s responsible for the soccer pick-up and why we’ve run out of toilet paper AGAIN?
I have a vision of the children heading out into the big, wide world to lead highly successful lives … leaving behind a shell-of-a-woman, clutching a wine bottle and yelling “oh yes they are great NOW, you have no idea what it took to get them there”.
Life after children, what does that space look like? Perhaps endless, uninterrupted blogging accompanied by chocolate?
Imagine you have one child-free day to yourself, how would you spend the time?