It’s just past 11 pm as I write this. M went to bed a little later than usual, at 9.30 pm. He’s not sleeping through the night yet (he’ll get there, he’ll get there), but once he’s in bed work begins. After the kitchen has been closed for the night, baths sorted and some mosquitoes killed, the fingers begin to fly over the keyboard. On nights when no deadlines beckon, I have the luxury of speed-reading through my Reader and if I’m lucky, I’ll reach the end of the list and ecstatically click on ‘Mark all as Read’. Most days, I’m lucky to get through half the posts.
Two nights ago, I was awake until two meeting a deadline. The house was quiet and except for those nasty mosquitoes, it was a pleasure working at the time. I miss having a quiet place to live in, so night-time brings with it much needed solitude and calm.
I know several other mothers who bring out the laptop once the children are in bed. I often think of what it would be like if we had day-care and I could keep to some semblance of office hours and have the nights free, to myself. I hate to admit it, but I think I would miss those intimate moments with M. Today, we spent over three hours in the veranda, squatting on a striped dhurrie, making jigsaw puzzles (meant for 4 year olds, done in 8 seconds flat by my 26 month old), playing horsie-horsie while I read a book (don’t ask – it is possible, yes). That’s why M got to bed late today, because we were having fun and were reluctant to come in.
I hope to get back into ‘serious’ journalism once M begins preschool this June. That’s three hours of ‘free’ time on weekday mornings. That means, I plan to go out more, talk to more people, see more things, experience more.
I can’t bear to give up my nights, though. It’s the only time I can hear myself think. (If we lived in a quieter place, I might consider it though.)
Ladies of the night? Yeah, count me in.