Next week, I’m off on an adventure with my closest friend. Here’s my truth: I won’t miss my child in the slightest.
We’re set for four glorious days and nights, where we can sink into our own beds, enjoy steaming hot showers every day, and sip coffee while it’s still fresh enough to make you feel alive. We’ll have hours of uninterrupted adult conversations, broken by peaceful silences, leisurely bike rides, and walks through nature. I’ll fall asleep when I choose and wake up with the sun, somewhere between not-dark-o’clock and whenever-I-feel-like-it. I can indulge in that second glass of wine, knowing that the only person I’m accountable for in the middle of the night is myself.
Sure, I’ll feel a twinge of longing for my 2-year-old, especially around his bedtime, when he’s all cuddly and sleepy, craving the comfort of being in my arms as we share our cherished pre-sleep giggles and songs. But that’s the extent of it.
From the moment I became pregnant, I yearned for the chance to let someone else hold my baby and share the responsibilities of nurturing. I didn’t want to relinquish all responsibilities, but I definitely longed for a partner in this journey. (His dad, by the way, is an incredible co-parent—think of the Alton Brown of fatherhood.)
The newborn phase was intense for us. My son experienced a stroke shortly after birth and spent his first week in the NICU. I was a pumping machine, working around the clock while spending countless hours by his tiny bedside, watching him fight for his life. When he finally came home after six days, I was overjoyed but also felt the itch for some alone time. Less than two days later, I pumped some milk, laid him down for a nap, and took a three-hour breather with my husband on duty. I only went home because my breasts felt like they were going to explode.
Fast forward seven months, and we faced another challenge when E was diagnosed with life-threatening food allergies. I was mostly housebound, battling anxiety and counting every minute until my husband returned or bedtime arrived. I craved those fleeting moments of freedom when I could escape into the city for a couple of hours before returning home to care for my little one again.
Now that my son is thriving and recovering from his early challenges, I still recognize my need for breaks. I require space. Space to reflect, to breathe, to not be tethered to anyone or anything for a bit; whether it’s an hour, a day, or a week. Although opportunities for that are rare, I know I need distance to truly process life.
I actively resist the narrative that says I’m failing at motherhood, especially when I see so many moms who dread leaving their children, no matter their age. I can’t relate.
Being a mother cannot consume my entire being. It’s simply too much. And you know what? I need more.
There, I said it—the thing moms aren’t meant to admit. I NEED MORE. I crave connections with others, though not too many, as crowds can be overwhelming. I need solitary moments to recharge so that I can be a present, engaged mother. My son is a beautiful planet in my universe, but he cannot be my entire solar system. And if I’m honest, stepping away from my son helps me reconnect with my desire to be present, to stay. Maybe that sounds selfish, but mostly, it keeps me sane.
So, I’ll indulge in hot coffee, long walks, and the bliss of adult life, knowing that when I return, I can be the grounded and attentive mom my little one needs. With a full heart, I can truly be there for him.
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Summary
Taking breaks from parenting is essential for maintaining mental health and well-being. Acknowledging the need for time away can help moms recharge and reconnect with their roles. It’s okay to seek solitude to process life and return to parenting with renewed energy.
Keyphrase: Taking breaks from parenting
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