Next week, I have an exciting getaway planned with my closest friend. I have to admit something though: I won’t miss my child at all during this time.
We’re set to enjoy four nights and four days of bliss, complete with cozy beds, steaming showers, and coffee hot enough to make my face feel like it’s melting. We’ll relish in hours of adult conversation, punctuated only by serene silences and leisurely bike rides or strolls in nature. I can drift off to sleep whenever I choose and wake up with the sun, somewhere between the crack of dawn and whenever I feel like it. Plus, I can indulge in that extra glass of wine, knowing the only one I’m responsible for at midnight is myself.
Of course, I’ll feel a twinge of longing for my 2-year-old during his bedtime, especially as I think about those sweet moments filled with cuddles and our bedtime routines of laughter and songs. But, honestly, that’s about it.
From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I was eager to hand my baby over to someone else, sharing the weight of motherhood. It wasn’t that I wanted to escape all responsibilities, but I definitely craved a partner in this journey. (His dad is an outstanding co-parent, by the way—like the gourmet chef of fatherhood.)
The early days with my son were intense. He had a stroke shortly after birth and spent his first week in the NICU. I was on a pumping schedule every three hours and spent nearly all my waking hours at his side, feeling utterly helpless yet hopeful. When we finally brought him home after six long days, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. But just two days later, I found myself yearning for a moment alone. I pumped some milk, let him nap, and left him in my husband’s capable hands for a few hours. I only went home because my body felt like it was about to explode with milk.
Fast forward seven months, when E was diagnosed with severe food allergies, leading us to be homebound most of the time. Anxiety gripped me tight as I counted the minutes until my husband came back or bedtime finally arrived, so I could escape for a couple of hours into the city before returning to pump and care for my little one again.
Now, even though my 2-year-old is thriving and rebounding from his early challenges, I still crave those breaks. I need space—to think, to breathe, to not be tied to anyone or anything for a moment. I know these moments are few and far between, but they are essential for my mental health.
I actively resist the notion of failing at motherhood because I see so many moms who can’t bear to leave their children, regardless of their age. I simply can’t relate to that mindset.
Being a mother cannot consume me completely; it’s too much to bear. And here’s the truth: I need more. There, I said it—the taboo phrase moms aren’t supposed to utter. I need people around me, but not too many, or I feel overwhelmed. I need solo time to recharge so I can be the engaged mom I want to be. My son is a vital part of my universe, but he can’t be the center of it all. Deep down, I know that stepping away from him helps me reignite my desire to stay present and engaged with him.
So, I’ll indulge in coffee, long walks, and the peace of being child-free, all while knowing that when I return home, I can be the focused and nurturing mother my little one deserves. With a full heart, I can embrace my role once again.
If you’re looking for more parenting insights, check out this post, or if you’re considering at-home insemination options, here’s a great resource for quality kits. You can also find helpful advice on this blog dedicated to pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary
In this candid reflection on motherhood, the author shares her need for personal space and time away from her child to recharge and reconnect with herself. Acknowledging the pressures of motherhood, she emphasizes that stepping away is not a sign of failure but rather a means to be a better, more present parent.
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