Twenty four hours
One whole night and (almost) a day without the children. Well, three quarters of them. Number 4 still requires breastfeeding on demand and so I simply cannot go anywhere without her.
Darling husband has surprised me and booked the Penthouse suit at a hotel in Cambridge in a bid to help me to relax the night before having a minor procedure at Papworth. We are here for one night before heading home tomorrow after my day surgery. My parents have the other three for the night. That’s twenty-four (ish) hours of freedom in my book. Twenty-four hours focusing my attention on only the smallest of the four; attention she has always shared with her older sisters. Of course I am feeling a little apprehensive about tomorrow; but mostly I am relishing the opportunity to have a bit of peace and quiet for once - sod the nerves!
I’m not sure what to do first. Take advantage of the fact that I’ll be able to watch a whole episode of something mindless on Netflix or sit still for more than ten minutes without being summoned to some sort of “emergency” (one of number 1’s classics she often belts out, usually when I’m on the toilet - a.k.a - she can’t reach the snacks)
It occurs to me that there is a freshly made King-sized bed that I will share ONLY with my husband and baby. One that I might be able to lay in for more than a couple of minutes in the morning before the cavalry arrive and commandeer it - shame we have to leave at 7.30 am - sigh
Maybe I should use it for trampoline practice just to make me feel more at home, or chuck the pillows on the floor to make a den. The least I can do is mess up the sheets a little, just because it’s been recently made; standard behaviour in my house!
This isn’t any old hotel room; this is the nuts! The Penthouse suit comes with a separate lounge, seating and dining area. Lobby and hallway (which in all honesty is a little pointless!) a ‘guest’ bathroom. And then the Master bedroom and bathroom; complete with his & hers wash basin stations, walk in shower and separate bath which is the size of a hot tub! The bathroom, might I add, is bigger than my bedroom! The TV’s are effing huge, and the best bit... complimentary warm cookies on arrival. Nice.
It’s getting late and I have to stop eating at midnight in preparation for tomorrow. I remind myself of a cute furry character out of a great 80’s movie (minus the cute). Fearing that I’ll ‘turn’ if I don’t eat soon, we order room service. A posh burger for him and an equally posh salad for me, complete with avocado, pecan nuts and various other ‘super-foods’. Triple cooked chips accompany my healthy option, ruining any chances of a ‘clean’ meal.
I have a drink. A lovely refreshing and cold glass of lemonade. One that hasn’t had the chance to go flat or warm, or had grubby little mitts in it to scoop out the ice!
My husband and I actually ate dinner together. Dinner we didn’t have to cook or clean up after. We shared food with each other, without having to fight off little fingers picking at it. We admired it for a while before taking time to chew each bite, not scoff it down as per. We talked. My god we talked. I don’t really remember what about, but we talked; without any interruptions or added indigestion. Without having to shout above the noise or stop to break up a sibling squabble. Without having to ‘wipe a bum’ mid mouthful. (This happens to us EVERY meal time, I kid you not!)
Once we’d finished, the tray was kindly collected and dealt with elsewhere. This is surreal...before the leftovers disappeared I considered scattering bits of mango and quinoa salad all over the floor just to make my evening feel ‘less odd’ and more homely. Crawling around on the floor picking up bits of pasta or collecting stray peas is usual practice for me after dinner time in my house. I also considered whether it would be appropriate to ask the room service guy to stay for a while so I could clean up after him? Or just have him hang around my ankles and beg for snacks. I’m just not this used to feeling this free. It’s strange. My mind is in overdrive, in search of chores. Maybe I’ll follow him back down to the restaurant and just offer to take a few orders or collect some glasses for the bar staff? Or maybe...I should stop this nonsense, enjoy it whilst it lasts and treat myself to a trip to the loo...alone?
Well this IS lonely. I take a few minutes and ponder the question; who can I invite to be my audience as I have a wee? I wonder whether it would be OK to invite other hotel guests in to jump on the bed or flick over the the TV channel, just for shits and giggles!
I had a bath...alone. Without someone volunteering to wash me or tip endless bubbles into the tub in a bid to ‘help’. For this very reason I tend to opt for the shower these days. It’s quicker, easier, and less possible for some kind of crisis to occur in the three minutes I’m in there - sigh again.
It was teasingly tranquil for all of two ticks before the helpful husband decided to try out the water jets; a luxury we don’t have the pleasure of in our bog-standard bathroom back home. He just cannot resist the need to suss out new gadgets. Although the bath wasn’t yet filled enough to submerge the jets was it, and so upon him fiddling with various buttons and settings, I got a rather rapid and shocking squirt in the face, I say squirt, more like a violent surge. (Twice!) Ahhhhh. That’s more like it!
This whole experience is bliss, but I feel slightly uneasy. I cannot seem to adjust to the mindset of just being! What did I actually do before I was a mum? I feel rather redundant. I have no bums to wipe, no crumbs to collect, I’m sitting and relaxing for more than five minutes, not crawling on all fours picking up crap from the floor.
I know what it is…I think I miss them!
I’m left wondering how my brain will cope with the lack of bonkers activity and essential multitasking it has come to know as the ‘norm’. Will it be able to function properly tomorrow? Maybe it will embrace the vacation I have allowed it for a short period of time and indeed stay in holiday mode for the remainder of the summer break?
It had better not; I’d be doomed!