We were on vacation, five people crammed into a tiny hotel room. I told the kids they needed to find something to do for a few minutes so I could shower and the husband could get the car.
“It must be hard,” my seven-year-old son said.
“Trying to take care of yourself when you have to take care of kids, too.”
“Well, it is,” I said. I was relieved to hear that he understood. But lest my honesty removes the possibility of grandchildren, I quickly added, “But my life is so more full now that I have you. It felt empty before.”
“Is that when you just sat around and drank wine?”
Wham. So that’s how my son imagines me: either in hectic-parenting mode or wino-boozing state. Which, to be truthful, is the case now, but I promise I did have a life pre-kids.
If I can ever remember it, I’ll tell him about it.
Photo credit: Daniel Horacio Agostini