A “Get out of Jail free” pass, three hours a day.

It’s nice to be out on a Monday morning. Or any morning for that matter.

The whole of last year, I spent being at home. As far as the world was concerned, I fell through the cracks and off the map. It’s like I didn’t even exist. Except for a couple of hours during the weekends, I spent all of my days and nights at home in my PJs.

For a while it was nice not to bother about makeup and pretty clothes because there is no way I’m dressing up just to be at home running after two crazy kids. Comfort trumps all, I thought. But as I’ve come to realize, feeling that comfortable all the time is not good for morale. It’s nice to dab on some makeup and head out for some fresh air. It’s nice to meet people again, even if it’s just making small talk about how cute my baby is. It’s nice to have a real latte and a scone. Did I mention the fresh air? I really miss fresh air.

Anyway, baby girl has been enjoying the time out. She’s been surprisingly adaptable and unfussy. I was prepared for some adjustment on her part but she’s been eating well and taking hour-long naps outdoors, which gives me some time for breakfast and a nice book.

Although I got to say, being out is a hell of a lot more tiring. There’s still a thousand things to pack when I’m out with two babies, and also a lot of contingency planning and improvisation like when they projectile vomit or have such a massive pack of poop it spills out of their diaper and onto everywhere else or throw a colossal hissy fit for 15 minutes. When these things happen, I ask myself why I’m pathological enough to venture out of the home alone with two kids.

Then I think about the alternative, which is house arrest. I think I choose fresh air.