Yesterday was one of those days. I was out of the house for a couple of hours for a long, boring drive to get an ultrasound on my leg. On the drive there, there was no running commentary about the other cars on the highway--the red BMW, the Black Volkswagen, the green Honda Pilot, the blue PT Cruiser, the car carrier filled with new cars, the stream roller. There were no demands for drinks or unneeded stops at the gas station for a potty break. I took the stairs (instead of the elevator with a stroller), flipped through a couple of magazines in the waiting room (instead of feeding snacks to Preschooler in Chief and nursing Baby in Chief), reclined with a book and then closed my eyes in the dimly lit exam room (instead of stressing out while trying to keep BIC quiet so that I could communicate with the doctor). I went to the cafe and had a snack (and I didn't even have to share it). Then I lounged for a few extra minutes in the courtyard and enjoyed the silence and the warm sun. It felt like I was in Calistoga for a glorious pick-me-up.
At what point did my life become so twisted that a doctor appointment without kids equals a luxurious outing?