Last week I took a plane to a big city I had never been to for a super exciting work trip. When I arrived at my destination, I had hours until I had to do the work thing; if you can call hanging out with other mother writers and getting pampered work. I was talking to the cab driver on the way to the hotel telling him I’d never been here before. He told me all the hot spots, he offered to take me to them that very minute. I thought about it but wanted to get to my hotel and freshen up first. I was pumped, it was beautiful, I was kid-free and it was a balmy 90 degrees. I had packed my favourite summer dress, I would be a woman about the town.
I planned on getting to my hotel room, changing into my dress that makes me feel like a sexy woman and hitting the streets with a tall cup of caffeine. There were museums, aquariums, and the hotel I was staying in was attached to the biggest mall I had ever seen.
But after one look at the overstuffed pillows, white bedding, large tub, television and the room service menu strategically propped on my pillow inviting me to eat in the gigantic bed, I changed my mind. I suddenly wanted to be Kevin from the movie, Home Alone 2 and order all the things while watching bad television.
The bed, the menu and the tub seduced me, a menage trios if you will. I had spent all day talking to strangers in the airport, on the flight, in the cab, and all I wanted was to order some prawn, sip on wine and stare out the window while I swam under a sea of white 600 thread count sheets.
And that is what I did. It was my mini momcation and it was perfect.
Of course, there was a part of me that thought I should be doing more and getting my ass out of this delicious bed. After all, I may never have an all-expense-paid trip in this exciting city again, but as I sipped on my white wine and started out the window, all the shits I had given about seeing the town were quickly silenced by me realising I needed this. I wasn’t being boring, I am not getting old, I was simply taking care of me.
Maybe I will never be in this place again, but I have no idea when a bed so large and lavish will be just mine to roll around in. I am not sure if there will be another opportunity to have prawn delivered right to my door and be able to eat in the tub without being interrupted. And drinking wine in bed isn’t really something I do on the regular at home, but I think that needs to change.
I used to want to live it up when I travelled. I used to try and squeeze it all in and the younger version of me would do it, only to need a holiday from my holiday.
We all know as mums we aren’t afforded this luxury. You take a holiday, you go right back to your life in progress. It doesn’t slow down for you, ever. Not to mention you are the one in charge of making sure everyone has fun. My idea of fun these days is not having to make any decisions, do any planning, or making sure everyone has used to potty before we leave the damn door—that’s not a holiday and we all know it.
A true holiday means we are left alone and able to recharge. It means being able to order whatever we want, have it delivered without having to share.
These days a long bath and some silence bring me back to life again, and I really don’t feel like I missed a damn thing on my momcation. I fact, I’m counting down the days until I can take another “work trip.”
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