My Secret

I like being on my own.  I like reading non-stop all day.  I get annoyed when I have to interrupt my reading in order to get something to eat.  I dislike being interrupted when I’m reading to answer somebody’s question or listen to a story.  I don’t really listen to them.  I stare at them thinking the whole time about my book – the characters, the plot, what’s going to happen next.  I’m nearly always caught out if I have to answer a question.  Isn’t that rude?

I like being on my own to get out of bed when I want to.  Not because the baby is crying or we have to go to school or to play or go to the shops for something I don’t need but somebody else does.  I especially hate getting out of bed to look after the kids when my husband lies in.  Sometimes on those days I just want to kick him.

I like being on my own when I go shopping.  I can shop as long as I like then without worrying about my husband looking over my shoulder wondering what on earth I’m buying that for.  I can browse without him worrying that I will buy everything I see.  I like being on my own and trying on clothes without my eldest child telling me she can see my bum or my boobies or my tummy and then patting it as it sticks out of the t-shirt I am trying on.  I like being on my own to wander around looking at the shops without being asked for a lolly or ice-cream or the toilet.

I like being on my own and carrying just my things in my pocket or a little bag without lugging around a bag the size of hand luggage filled with nappies, wipes, snacks, water bottles and toys.

I like being on my own at night and cooking one meal that I will enjoy and not having to compromise to accommodate everyone else’s tastes.

I like being on my own at night and getting to watch a TV programme that doesn’t contain a cartoon character.

I like being on my own on a lazy Sunday when there is a blown up mattress on the lounge room floor and a big bowl of popcorn beside it. Toys scattered everywhere and my family in all various stages of dress – me in my pajamas, my daughter usually in nothing more than knickers and a princess crown, the baby in her nappy and my husband in his shorts.  I like being on my own with my family and no-one else to interrupt our routine where we are free to do our own thing but we are together.

I like being on my own and knowing that I am unchanged and although I sometimes wish I was somewhere else I don’t wish to be someone else and my family doesn’t wish that either.

I have finally realised that I’m okay being dishevelled, disorganised and disagreeable.  I like being on my own and my husband knows it.  He lets me.  I think that’s why I keep coming back.

 

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