It was quite unexpected, this opportunity for 45 hours of solitude. I had planned to journey to Nashville, driving my niece and her newborn to visit her father, my brother-in-law. However, when those plans shifted, my schedule opened up dramatically. I canceled the dog-sitting arrangements, my eight-year-old was already with her grandparents, and I waved goodbye to my husband as he departed for a business trip.
In that moment, it felt as though the universe had conspired in my favor—everything aligned, and I was utterly alone.
Alone in my house, free from the usual demands of family life: no one was calling for me or asking where their belongings were, and I didn’t have to worry about when the next meal would be served. I could indulge in a TV binge without a single alien movie, cowboy flick, or war documentary in sight. No more scanning through children’s programming to shield Tater from iCarly or Scooby-Doo. I could leave the television on all night, nestled in the guest room with clean sheets, the glow of infomercials lighting up the darkness, and a stash of crackers on my pillow for midnight snacking.
I could bake chocolate chip cookies loaded with walnuts—my granddaughter doesn’t like them—and throw in as many chocolate-covered caramel pieces as I wanted because someone else can’t eat chocolate. And I could relish every last crumb of those cookies, all to myself. Dinner could be popcorn, dessert could be cheesecake, and I could have NCIS playing on a loop with my laptop perched on my lap.
I envisioned myself in pajama pants and a tank top, completely free from the confines of a bra; there would be no judgment in my solitude. The thoughts of indulging in chick flicks, sleeping in until noon, and luxuriating in long bubble baths danced through my mind like whimsical daydreams of a 52-year-old woman navigating life with an eight-year-old granddaughter, an elderly father living in the yard, and a husband frequently away for work. This was pure fantasy.
Just think: reading entire chapters of a book without needing to pause a dozen times to locate a sock, find a child, or respond to 54 inquiries that all begin with “Why?” I started to devise a plan, feigning remorse for the time I would spend alone, missing my family while they were engaged in their activities. I mapped out these 45 hours with the precision of a military strategist, contemplating how extra sleep might rejuvenate me, yet also considering how I could maximize every moment. (Ultimately, I concluded that staying awake for the entire period wasn’t feasible.)
Once I finally settled into the house by myself, I plopped down on the couch, opened my laptop, and switched on the TV. I found a batch of Hallmark movies I had recorded, preparing to immerse myself in this rare opportunity for peace and quiet.
Four hours later, I awoke to a dead laptop battery, a finished recording, and a stiff neck. Resigned, I called my granddaughter to see if she might want to return home early. We had cookies to bake and a spa day in need of planning.
This article was originally published on June 22, 2015. For more insights on family planning and home insemination, check out this blog post. If you’re interested in exploring more about artificial insemination, CryoBaby offers excellent resources on the topic. Additionally, News Medical provides valuable information regarding pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary:
In a twist of fate, I found myself with 45 hours of solitude when plans to travel changed. Embracing this unexpected free time, I reveled in the luxury of uninterrupted television, baking cookies, and enjoying the absence of family responsibilities. However, after a brief nap, I realized I missed my granddaughter and called her to return home early for a fun-filled day of baking and pampering.