A scant two years ago, I was on time and even occasionally early when going out. I knew what time we had to leave the house to get somewhere, and amazingly, that’s when we left the house. I had time to spare and I didn’t even realize or appreciate it.
Smash-cut to my current reality and I am always late. Always. Even when I start out ahead of the game. Even when I don’t hit the snooze button a thousand times.
What happened to me? I had a baby. Yes, everyone tells you they’ll change your life, and yes, that is magical and wonderful, but it is also frustrating and unpredictable. Motherhood has turned me into a harried, late mess and more often than I’d like to admit, a flake.
We will be almost out of the house, gloriously punctual, and then… explosive diaper. Or explosive tantrum. Or somehow, between the house and the car, a shoe has disappeared. I want to be on time. I want to appear responsible and put together. But that’s just not in the cards right now.
And on the extreme days, our lateness becomes so egregious we give up and go back in the house, vowing to try again after nap time or when my toddler is more reasonable.
So please, fellow mama, please don’t apologize when (not if) you’re late when meeting me. The lateness is appreciated, understood, and sometimes, has given me a few glorious moments to breathe before putting on my social face. And on the days when I’m child-free and you’re late? GIRL. You just gave me extra time to read! Don’t you ever apologize for that.