Westley is asleep, and there are at least half a dozen things I need to do. Several more that I want to do. The bed's not made starts butting heads with the bathroom could use a good wipe-down, except that I haven't checked my e-mail in a few days and no time for a work-out, but 60 crunches is better than nothing. Pretty soon, I'm should-ing all over the place and italicized commands are everywhere. And then there's writing, which can feel like both a should and a want at the same time.
I take a deep breath.
What one thing would make a difference? Will I feel like I have slightly more mental clarity if all of my clothes are re-folded and put back in their drawers, or will it just be a waste of time because when he wakes up, Westley will quickly discover that his "work" has been undone? If I got started on the dinner preparations now, I wouldn't have to rush around the kitchen like a crazy person later, wondering how much longer I have until the hunger alarms start sounding.
Everything I can think of to do sounds like too much work for someone who just finished schlepping her hungry-crabby-tired boy all over Whole Foods, trying to feed him beet salad and marinated tofu while he arched away and ooh-ed at the flower-shaped pendant lamps. Someone who is hungry-crabby-tired herself.
I eat a snack, and think about taking a nap. It occurs to me that by the time I managed to get relaxed enough to fall asleep, Westley would probably be waking up. So I should really start the dinner, or at least figure out what I'm going to make for dinner.
This is one of the hardest things about motherhood, for me. This time, when the boy is sleeping and the house is relatively quiet, and it seems like there are an infinite number of little things to do. I have this glowing, golden opportunity To Accomplish Something. But all I want to do is rest. Drink some tea and see what's been languishing on the PVR for weeks. Procrastination disguised as self-care.
I know that as Westley gets older, the naps will disappear, and I won't have this time any more. And I know I'm going to miss it, even when I spend it wondering what to do and being certain I hear Westley crying every few minutes. This time, when I can tidy up a little. Or think about tidying up while flipping through the day's junk mail.
Because even if I waste it, at least it's my time to waste as I see fit.
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