I got a bikini wax today. We are going on a short trip to Denver and we will be spending some time in a hotel with a pool, so I needed a wax.
A bikini wax is far from pleasant.
Yet I looked forward to it.
It was one of those days. A dark moment in parenting, one where any time away from the kids sounded appealing even if it involved hairs being ripped from my body with hot wax. Yes, it was that bad.
We had an early start to the morning. I needed to arrive to preschool at an unusual hour because Evan's teacher had requested a meeting with me, she wanted to discuss his recent behavior. Evan is my "easy" child.
I was crabby at 6:30 am. It had been a night of nursing and broken sleep, one which was plagued with the same anxiety dreams I have been having over and over again. Those dreams that leave my body stressed and my mind racing.
We left the house in a hurry. Julian was screaming bloody murder and Evan was matching his pitch, crying and whining about carrying his lunch box and putting on his shoes. I lost my temper and yelled at him as I forced him into his car seat. I left behind a mess of a house. Breakfast dishes in the sink, toys strewn across the living room floor and several baskets of laundry awaiting folding.
As I backed out of the driveway with two boys competing in a game of who can wail the loudest I had a terrible thought. This was a mistake. I am not cut out for this. I can't do this.
I believe most parents of young children must have these thoughts from time to time. They are dark moments, moments when we wish we were childless on a beach in Mexico, and then feel the sting of guilt at the very thought.
Nobody said it would be easy.
So today, the 15 minute bikini wax equated to "me time", time without a crying baby, time without a whining preschooler, time where my pain was just my own.
And yes, I enjoyed it.
Call me crazy.