I’ve picked up the blocks. Check.
Cleaned the high chairs. Check.
I have two whole hours to myself, I should really work. Nah, I work too much.
Call a friend. Run through mental list of friends.
All married, with husbands. Was already told by one “tonight is date night.”
Well, what if you have no date?
I should call my single friends.
Oh wait, I have no single friends. My life has been carefully constructed to fit the needs I had four months ago. Family neighborhood, church full of families, good house in the suburbs. Friends like me with interests and times to get together like me. How did I not notice my world had become so small?
So insular? So dependent on my roles as mom and wife that now that I exist in this grey area I have no one to call.
Don’t get me wrong. My friends are wonderful. But I don’t want to bug them, I know they’re busy, I don’t want to seem whiny.
So here I sit. In the silence that is my life. It’s either too crowded–one kid hanging on each leg, no dad in sight–or too quiet as dad whisks kids away for dinner with grandma.
I’m like Goldilocks. I think I’ll leave this house and disappear into the woods. None of these chairs fit anymore.