Every mother, no matter how devoted, experiences moments when she yearns to … go wild.
I should have known on a day when I dared sleep in, trouble would soon follow.
Sleeping in was unknown luxury during my years as a young mother, a fairy-tale fantasy that inevitably dissolved in a shower of Cheerios and the wiggles and jiggles and messy, precious kisses of my preschoolers.
Sleeping in existed in a different solar system — or perhaps in a different galaxy far, far away.
But that knowledge evaporated as I lay in a bed I wouldn’t have to make, savoring the ecstasy of a quiet — yes, quiet — 16th-floor hotel room.
My husband already had left for his conference. I went wild and indulged in forbidden pleasures: a cup of real coffee (double cream) in bed, steaming hot from the first mellow sip to the very last; a television program in which most people already knew how to count to ten; and a long, sinful bath filled to the top, with no Mr. Bubble or rubber duckies in sight.
After bathing, I ignored my ratty plaid bathrobe hanging on the hook. I didn’t decide what to wear. Instead, I wandered around the room, carefree and content as Eve in the Garden of Eden.
Prolonging my wild mama fling — unhampered by diaper bags, car seats, nap times or must-have blankies — I pondered how I would spend an entire day without children or Happy Meals.
Intoxicated with my liberty, I forgot my mother’s advice to always close the drapes and faced the room-sized picture windows. The panoramic view of city streets and smaller buildings far below dazzled my eyes, my soul. Embracing the endless, azure sky, I sang, “I’m free! Free!”
I hit the floor as if attacked by enemy fire. I yanked the bedspread (Too late?) across my prostrate, naked form.
Had he seen me?
The traffic helicopter pilot waved.
Then he and his mighty machine swept off to corners of the universe where other derelict mothers in need of reform might lurk.
How about you? Ever have a day when you morphed into a wild mama?