I'm a lucky woman. I get to to live a life of which many women dream. I talk to women all the time, happily married women with children of their own, loving partners, affluent lifestyles, and they envy me.
I get to be a carefree woman for half of the week, and a mother for the other half. I'm able to compartmentalise my life, I can make arrangements to do certain things on certain days of the week without having to arrange babysitters; conversely I can arrange to do things with my son on other days and know that the time is purely ours, with no interruptions.
Last year I was fortunate enough to go to Sorrento on holiday with S. It was a beautiful destination, a gorgeous town and incredibly romantic. I was able to be a woman, first and foremost, as D was with his father. It was really the start of our relationship, a time for us to spend every minute together, a chance to learn more about each other than we already knew. And I loved it.
This year we went on a long weekend to Paris. Again incredibly romantic, and knowing each other so much better now. I was as relaxed as I'd ever been, enjoying the sights, enjoying him.
We've just come back from a week in Cornwall, staying in a cottage. This time though, it was the three of us, the first time we'd ever done the "family holiday" thing.
And boy, that was some different gravy.