I’ve never spent a night away from my child.  This is not a badge of honor – more like a virginity that I’m desperate to lose but can’t because I’ve got no game.     

Sometime after Viv turned two, I realized I was ready for a little bit of adult time.  I wasn’t trying to cut the cord – just stretch it to a place with a pool where I could read a magazine unmolested.

My first order of business was to arrange a spa overnight with some other mommy friends.  This seemed ideal – with Dave watching Viv, I knew she’d be just fine.  It took weeks of emails to find a Saturday that worked for everyone and finally book the resort.  I circled the date on my calendar and counted down the days.  

Then, one of Dave’s friends announced a last minute wedding set for the exact same Saturday night, a hundred miles away.  Wedding trumps spa, so I backed out of the girls’ weekend. 

Plan B: My mom came to visit for two weeks.  I asked her if she’d be willing to stay with Viv while Dave and I staycationed one night at a nearby hotel.  We’d lay by the pool, get massages, and sleep for 12 hours.  It would be the first time we’d slept in together since 2010.   The day before the trip, I came down with a vicious cold—the kind where it feels like you’re swallowing shards of glass and there’s a small planet sitting on your sinuses.  The kind where even driving 40 minutes to go lay by a pool sounds too hard.   We canceled.

Twice foiled in so short a time – I began to wonder if there wasn’t some sort of conspiracy afoot.

Question: Who stands to gain by keeping mommy home every time she tries to skip town? 

Answer:

Logical conclusion: my daughter is a wizard, an X-men or maybe a Firestarter.

Perhaps I’d better put this little fantasy of mine on hold, for the safety of my community.

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