As a mum to two small people, I understand all too well the need for me-time and a little self-care; we give up so much for our little people, and of course we do it gladly. But it’s haaaaaaard.
And sometimes it nice to be reminded of the person we were pre-children – a woman with tastes and dignity and hopefully even a little class.
Today is not a happy day for me right now. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be over it by the time I finish the coffee I’m inhaling whilst typing this post out – but I’m a bit disappointed. Okay, a lot: I was invited to a blogger event tonight by my lovely friend Amy, and I’ve been so excited about it. Only when I checked which train we needed to get (Elfin doesn’t leave me yet, obvs), I discovered that there’s a rail replacement service running.
I may sound pathetic – I blimmin’ feel it! – but it all got too much. Travelling alone at night with a small baby made me feel vulnerable. I had overcome that angst so I could do something just for me, but the spanner in the works (no pun intended – I don’t know what’s wrong with the locomotive) has put paid to my plans: The thought of an unfamiliar train station and multiple changes just felt too stressful.
Of course, there’s also the guilt that I’ve let my friend down, something which I hate doing.
Vulnerability as a Woman and Mother
Despite having previously worked and lived (alone!) in London, travelled at night on the tube, walked the streets of the city past midnight – and generally been quite foolhardy – I no longer have that fearlessness.
It’s not just about me anymore and I have too much to lose.
The thing is, I don’t want to be a martyr – I want, as far as possible, to live my life around my children. With them for the most part, obviously; but I never want to resent them because they prevented me from doing fun things. So with careful planning and my husband’s support I was vaguely anxious – but mostly just excited to be going to catch up with my blogger friends.
I’ve worked to overcome irrational anxieties which plagued me during my twenties, such as driving long distances to places I don’t know; and so I feel not only disappointed but also a little bit mad at myself for allowing the fear to creep back in. My hubby assures me that on this occasion, I should embrace the feeling of being vulnerable because it’s warranted.
There are many times when I’ve had to explain to my husband that vulnerability as a woman because I just don’t think it applies to men in the same way. For example, I won’t take my car to be washed by a group of men. Silly? Perhaps. Unnecessary? More than likely. But I bet I’m not the only one. Luckily my hubby is very understanding and I *think* he got it in the end. So for him to be relieved at my decision does at least make me feel validated. (Amy, if you’re reading, wishing you all the luck in the world tonight, Sweetheart, and I’m so sorry not to be there.)
Nonetheless, I’m incredibly frustrated that after four months of (hopefully) being (an approximation of) Supermum, still I don’t get my night out.
It wouldn’t even have been a night off; but it would have been something.
Would you be comfortable travelling with a baby in London at night?