I like breaks. It seems, these days, that I am constantly in search of one. Breaks from, mostly, parenting. I like breaks from doing dishes and breaks from the rain and breaks from being inside the house, too, but I really like breaks from parenting. Doing what I want, when I want to do it. Cooking food just for me. Completely spacing out for minutes at a time without worrying that my small child is going to hurt himself due to my negligence. I sometimes wonder what I did with all my time before I had The Who, but usually I don’t get that far in my wondering because my reverie is interrupted by a Very Urgent Need of some sort — juice or grilled cheese or playing fire fighters, complete with little plastic fire hats for both of us.

Yes. I really do like breaks, but I am also realizing that I miss him. This morning, I am taking advantage of the free childcare afforded me as part of my membership at the Y. The Who is in the Kid Zone playing with his pals while I meander around the internet, catching up on Facebook, reading all those back posts on my Google Reader, and blogging. But as the minutes of my precious break-time tick by, I find myself really looking forward to pick-up in the same way I rush toward day care at the end of a long workday. I miss him. I feel reasonably sated. Sane and relaxed. Rested. And now I’m ready to kiss those amazing cheeks.

I guess that’s the purpose of breaks. To stop and to start again, refreshed.

I like breaks.

One thought on “Breaks.

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