Last weekend I was the proud recipient of every Mama’s dream: a hot cup of coffee and some down time at a hotel for the weekend. Now, to be fair, I was there for a writer’s conference with books, note pads, pens, business cards and high heels in hand. I hadn’t been sure of what to be more excited for – the possibility of sleeping past 7, the alone time with my thoughts (not just in the bathroom) or perhaps the writing and speaking tips I would pick up along the way.
As expected, my time was filled with learning, inspiration, “God moments”…all the things I’d hoped for. All the things I’d busily cleaned and cooked and prepared my home for while I’d be gone. All the things I’d pumped bottles and prepped my husband for in regards to his taking on both our three year old as well as our energetic eight month old, for the weekend. All the things that would be worth it in my anticipation of that solid, magical alone time.
The old me, meaning the person I’ve been for all thirty-five years of my life, loved alone time. Craved it. I’ve always said that I’m an extroverted introvert. As much as I love the energy of being around people and making connections, afterwards, I need a break. Knowing this about myself, I’d never fill a trip with a sidekick to talk to on the plane, or a roommate; There is no better way to zap my energy. And now with the added layer of being a Mom, alone time had certainly become an even greater necessity… Right?
