A writer gets out of the house searching for a story that will change lives. A mother gets out of the house desperate for a break from the story of her life. But a writer mom?
Well, a writer mom gets out of the house handholding her life story, hoping to find inspiration on the way between home and playground.
These were the thoughts running through my mind as I ran away from home earlier today, with nothing but an old playlist and the earphones on.
It’s been a while since I got out of the house without my sweet 3yo appendix.
I actually think it only happened once this year when I got to write another story about it.
But today is a story in itself. A story of what’s it like to walk all by yourself without holding a tiny hand in yours.
I don’t know what to do with my hands
No, seriously. Where are all the things?
No backpack, scooter, soccer ball, inflatable crocodile, half-a-tree branches picked up within the two meters of sidewalk we typically cover in 30 minutes?
And no purse?
OK, the purse could actually be my fault. I stopped wearing one ever since I started carrying a child. With so many things I needed to bring along for the baby, I always found room to throw my wallet and phone somewhere. Somewhere I couldn’t remember afterward.
But let’s get back to this mother walking as if she was walking in Memphis, with the sun warming her from behind. What a strange feeling to see just one lonely shadow lying ahead on the gray cement of the street.
The free hands start feeling a bit cold.
I’m feeling dizzy by the speed that I reach
Wow, take it easy. Where’s my handbrake?
Without someone stopping me to analyze every crack in the asphalt, jump in every puddle, sniff every flower, count the legs of every spider, or get under every car to torment every hiding cat, I feel like I’ve crossed the legal speed limit.
That is weird.
I got tired without even carrying the backpack, scooter, soccer ball, inflatable crocodile, and half-a-tree branches.
I got tired from walking so fast, at a pace that my mommy brain hadn’t experienced in quite a while.
I make it to the end of the world, or sort of
So far from home. Far as in 5,000 steps away from home.
Normally, when I go out and about with my child, we barely make 2,000 steps in total.
Today, I’m taking a 10k steps walk, something I haven’t done since before I popped out that baby.
It feels good. Tiring, but good. The Don’t Stop Me Now kind of good.
Also, it feels like I’ve made it to the end of the world. At some point, I seriously worry if I’ll be able to make it back home on my own feet.
I get sore muscles in the lower body
I hear you, legs. I might have credited you too much.
You’re rustier than I expected. I’m in an unexpected kind of pain. I only used to get sore arms or abs. Actually, arms and abs.
When you bend and clench, struggling to drag 15–20 kilograms of adorable toddler who does not want to get home from the park, all while trying not to forget the backpack, scooter, soccer ball, inflatable crocodile, and the half-a-tree branches? That’s a full workout program for the upper body.
But when you’re light as a feather and can barely keep up with yourself? That’s a new kind of pain for me.
By this point, I’d like an Airplane to take me back. Wish right now.
I used to rule the world, now I just miss my tiny tot
Walking alone for the first time in a very long time was a bizarre experience.
Sliding down the memory lane, remembering the days when I’d wake up in the morning and hop for a long walk with Viva la Vida bouncing in my earphones, so many things are different.
One thing stays the same.
I miss my child. So I keep up the fast pace, following my lonely shadow towards the house he must have torn apart by now.
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Previously Published on medium
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