Over the weekend I did something that I recommend any new mother who is able, to do: I left my baby and husband for three days. Granted, I don’t breastfeed, so that makes the logistic of such a vacation much easier than if I did. And I also happen to have a very caring, compassionate, capable husband who was happy to do fulltime Daddy Duty for the weekend so that I could head back to Chicago and re-charge with my friends.
When I moved from Chicago to New York to be with Drew, after long distance dating for a year and a half, part of our “deal” was that I would make regular trips back to Chicago to reconnect with my best buds. I told Drew that even if/when we had kids, that was something that was important to me. I left a bit of heart in that city and it’s good — nay, necessary — for my soul to get back a couple times of year and find it again. So, that’s what I did this weekend and it was great.
Some people told me I’d be sick over being away from my 4 1/2 month old baby, and I hope it doesn’t make me sound like a horrible mother, but I was not sick over missing him. I mean, I missed him, of course. I look forward to bringing him with me to Chicago some time and showing him the lakefront and some of the places I used to sit and daydream about him. But I was perfectly content having a few days away from the sometimes-crushing — though usually rewarding — pressures of motherhood.
I drank (too much, some would say); I danced; I cooked and ate good food. I slept! I met new friends (including 11 lovely DearWendy readers!), and reconnected with some old-and-true ones. On Sunday, I didn’t leave my best friend’s apartment all day. Instead, we hosted a “bathrobe brunch” and invited other friends to come over, don bathrobes (and feather boas, if they wished), and drink orange julius martinis (that’s me and my bestie, Chad, in the photo above. We’ve been friends for 15 years and talk every day. He’s gay, single, lives alone and has a much different life than I do now, but we’ll always be soul-siblings.).
My only regret about the weekend is that it didn’t include a window of 80 degree temperature — even an hour window would have sufficed — for me to lounge on my favorite beach and soak up some sun like I used to do. As I drunkenly told a cab driver on the way home from a downtown bar Saturday as we wound around Lake Shore Drive, “My heart cries out for it!”
And I think my heart cried out for a weekend just like last one. Thanks to Drew for letting me have it.