I can very clearly remember when Mondays meant the worst things ever. It meant the end of the weekend, it meant setting the alarm (and pressing snooze 12x) and morning commutes and meetings and wearing tight skirts and heels while tromping around town and making appointments and well, everything that I didn’t like about work in general.

And then last night I posted on fb that I was excited for Monday and after posting it, thought, wow, did I really just say I was excited for Monday. How did that happen? I mean, sure, everything fundamental about my life has changed since childbirth, but surely not sucky Mondays. And yet, there we were, Sunday night and I was looking forward to Monday. Morning. Yeah, not just Monday but Monday MORNING.

Monday now means the start of a new week, and the kid goes off to his little two day a week “school” and gets so excited for the train ride, and it means I get the whole park back to myself practically, and get some exercise (another huge WTF has happened??) and teach class and we can all try and pretend like we have a schedule and it’s not running around and trying to get everything done, which is what the weekends have become.

This weekend I realized one of the good things about having kids in your early 20’s might be. You don’t have that same ingrained habit, sense memory, whatever it is, of spending lazy Sundays lying on the couch, having late brunch with your friends and maybe having one too many champagne cocktails and then heading back to the couch to nap it off. Not that people in their early 20’s don’t do these things, but it’s not AS ingrained. And I’m sure some day I will get to lie on the couch again and watch bad movies and take a mid afternoon nap, but for now…Sundays have become a challenge and Monday is like a breath of new air.

Go figure.

(NB – yesterday was so crazy that while I wrote this, I didn’t actually have time to post it. Some Monday)

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