Last night I found myself fantasizing about another life. I sat in front of my kitchen sink as the clock was approaching 5pm, and I thought how nice it would be, just at that moment, if I were about to get off work from an office job. An office job where I wear a skirt and heels all day (not a booger encrusted shirt). Then, after work, I'd decide to go for a run at the gym and soak in the pool. I'd take my time getting ready after my workout, no rushing about as I get dolled up to meet my very cute and witty boyfriend, with whom I am not too tired to carry on stimulating conversation (about things other than naughty behavior and dirty diapers), for drinks and then dinner.
I really enjoy being at home with my kids, but every once in a while there are times, or days, when I do think fondly of that life I used to know. It's not to say I'd trade. There's no denying that the life I have now is far more meaningful to me and I'd not choose another. But last night, amidst the constant noise three little boys can make, I missed a little of that freedom.
He likes to climb in the recycling box. I couldn't trade him for all the cute shoes in the world.