Lately I’ve been feeling like a double agent, or even a superhero, juggling two separate identities. On the weekdays, I’m Suburban Single Mom: hostess of playdates, laundress of popsicle-stained t-shirts, up with the sun, and in my pajamas way before Letterman.
On the weekends—when my kids are with their father—I’m another creature entirely: guzzler of margaritas, the biggest flirt of the party, out of bed only after most of the morning has passed, and in my pajamas ... well, hopefully not at all.
The only problem is, I’m not sure which of these personas is my alter ego and which one is the real me.
It’s a common philosophical question, I’m sure, for lots of parents who do the shared custody thing. It doesn’t happen at first, at least not in my experience—after doing the 24/7 mom or dad gig for a few years, learning how to spend time with just yourself again feels like adjusting to life underwater or on Mars.
For me, driving my car without my kids in the backseat was one of the weirdest things—listening to Coldplay instead of the Chipmunks, not having to simultaneously steer and dig through my purse for a Ziploc baggie of pretzels ... it was sort of great, but unbearably lonely at the same time.
Weirder and lonelier still was trying to sleep knowing that my children’s beds were empty, the blankets still smooth ... and forcing myself to wake up without high-volume demands for frozen waffles ringing in my ears.
I tried to be practical about the arrangement, to use the weekend getting all the things done that I always complained about not having time to accomplish during the week, from work to yoga to shoe shopping.
Yet something felt wrong: I was busy, I was productive—but mentally, I was still in Mom Mode. Being stuck in Mom Mode without my kids, I felt uncomfortably adrift. Attempting to anchor myself, I tried to remember: What was I like before I had kids? How would the pre-motherhood me have spent the weekend?
