The Road Not Taken

Today we ushered in a new era. Like my dramatic flair? Thank you.

In my first year of parenthood, a day without a play date was cause for deep, abject terror (mine.) The hours stretched endlessly toward 6:30 (David's absurdly late arrival time) mitigated all-too-briefly with the precious nap. The rest of the day, I was either chasing around a playground at a speed for which I probably needed cocaine rather than my usual poison of soda and licorice, or curled up in a ball in the corner, keening. Or furtively stuffing crackers in my mouth when a certain person wasn't looking (I didn't get many crackers.) When I blogged about the 4:00 "witching hour" (or two or three) someone suggested wine, but I would have ended up having to share it. On those nights, I often met David at the door with the command, "Don't even say hello; take her outside for 10 minutes and don't ask any questions."

Those days, thank heavens, have passed. But today, Dear Readers, I tried something totally wild and crazy never attempted before, and now I think I must have been in a state of mild hypothermia or some other condition that causes the slowing of brain function (oh, I just realized what that would be) to have waited so long.

I went to the gym. Yeah, you read that right. And no, this wasn't my first time at the gym since Jarrah--I work at the gym, remember? But this time was different because I took Jarrah with me.

And I walked through the big double doors marked "Kids Place."
And I filled out a form.
And I handed the nice girls my diaper bag.
And I said "Bye, see you soon!" to Jarrah's receding back.
And I walked back out into the quiet hallway.
And I thought: AM I A TOTAL MORON?

That's the only conclusion I can draw, because I spent the next two hours engaged as follows:

--watching the news on the elliptical
--lifting weights (sorta)
--walking briskly on the treadmill with a view of trees while watching E!
--lollygagging through some yoga stretches
--taking a long, hot, uninterrupted shower

AND...

--doing it all FOR FREE. That's right, F-R-E-E. The mind reels. But apparently, my status as "staff" qualifies me for two hours of free childcare ANY DAY OF THE WEEK.

And they serve snacks on the hour.

When I picked up Jarrah (blissed out, with wet hair) they told me she'd been an angel, and she told me she'd been on a pirate ship at her "new preschool."

"And how would you feel about going to the new preschool again sometime soon?" I asked, attempting to mask the urgency with which I anticipated her reply.

"Sure, Mommy."

Sweet.