When I was
7, freedom meant having unlimited snacks.
When I was
12, freedom meant going to the mall without parents.
When I was
17, freedom meant traveling somewhere far with classmates.
When I was
24, freedom meant choosing where I wanted to work without listening to others.
When I am
in my 30s, freedom means….a lot.
When you
have a baby, you will learn how to give up your freedom. When he’s sleeping,
that’s what I call freedom IF I can read books, write, or do things I really
wanted. If I cook or clean up and stuff, that’s opportunity, not freedom. Do
you know what I mean?
Now I sound
really mean.
Of course I
love my children. I just feel I need more time for me. (Moms with grown up kids
would say, enjoy your time. You’ll miss this moment when they’re older.)
I do try to
enjoy my time but this freedom remains a dream. Not completely a dream,
actually. My husband and my parents are kind enough to let me off for few hours
each week (or month, whenever chance appears) while one of them handled one of
my sons. I should be thankful for this, right?
So, as I
write this, I promise I will still be grateful for these hours-long freedom.
P.S.: You an participate in this English blog-writing challenge by clicking this link.
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