One of the least attractive things about motherhood is the lack of time. Or rather lack of free time. There's no lunch breaks, coffee breaks or sneaky fag breaks allowed. And although time might stretch and sag when M is fractious, it runs at double and triple speed for the rest of the day, especially in the evenings. It feels like there is always something still to be done, no matter how many things are crossed off the list. Saturday's newspaper sits on the side, mostly unread (it seems rather pointless now to trawl through the news section), friends are left untelephoned, floors are left uncleaned. The small things take so long, that it's all too easy to discover that it's 11.30pm, time for bed, and the luxury time to paint your toenails or read that magazine has disappeared.
I sloped off last night, minus M, to sit in Starbucks with a coffee and a trashy magazine and find some of my missing luxury time. It felt like only 10 minutes, but it was wonderful.