If you pause to think about it, it’s amazing what one can accomplish in eight minutes. Send three emails. Run a mile. Practically cook a lasagna (in the microwave mind you). Write a thank you card. Give a speech. Watch half of a DVRed show. Call a friend. Perform a minor, outpatient surgery. Amazing what eight minutes can do.
What’s not so marvelous about the number eight is when it’s associated with the number of minutes you spent with your child that day. Yes, you read that right. Eight. Minutes. That’s the total time I spent gazing into my son’s eyes today, frantically dressing, diapering and packing him to spend a delicious eight hours in someone else’s arms. It’s going to be more than eight days that this sinking, guilt-ridden, sad feeling leaves the pit of my stomach regarding these numerical facts.
I know I’m a girl lucky in love, blessed with flexible scheduling, friends, family and colleagues who understand…I’m beyond thankful for it everyday. But if I could just take these eight seconds to whine about my eight minutes, I’d be ever so indebted to you.
I miss you Monkey and love you more than anything. Sweet dreams.
Interesting, associated article regarding Moms and part-time work – are they really getting their extra eight minutes???
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