This weekend, Pops and I are in Atlanta babysitting for 2.5 year old Lila and 3.5 month old James.
The memories are coming back. Not the memories of trying to keep babies on schedule, praying that they will sleep at the same time after lunch; not the memories of wondering what they are into when they disappear and are quiet; not the memories of whether or not it is harmful to watch an hour or so of TV...etc. Those memories are buried somewhere in the cyberspace of childrearing. Most of those tasks were done so automatically that the recollection wasn't recorded for later re-living.
The memories that come back to me are the ones that pertain to getting away with my children's father. The anticipation that built up at the thought of escaping for a night or two of uninterrupted time with my husband are recorded in my memory bank forever. It was the thrill of leaving behind the demands of both adult and child and disappearing from the tyranny of
schedules and responsibilities. It was like tasting that forbidden fruit that is so sweet. For a little while, we could be like teenagers out of supervision of parents.
So what did we talk about for the first eight hours away? The children, of course. We would verbally unpack and examine every mental picture. After a while, we would rediscover each other, and remember why we got married in the first place.
I'm not sure if I fully appreciated the willing grandparents that we were blessed with. I think I operated under the delusion that we were doing them a favor by allowing them to participate
in their grandchildren's upbringing. What I didn't realize until now is that maybe they too enjoyed the feeling of freedom that comes with the realization that we have no one to make happy except each other. I don't know how our parents felt, because they belonged to the generation that didn't disclose such personal feelings. I just know that for me, just as I looked forward to time away with my children's father, I now look forward to getting away with their grandfather!
