I was asked yesterday what I had done for myself lately:  a good question, and one that took far too long to answer.  What had I done for myself that was just for me, didn’t involve or subsequently benefit someone else?

I thought.  Long and hard.

I think the last thing that I did for myself was discover the joys of a searingly-spicy noodle bowl by myself, on a Sunday, with no deadlines, kids or spouse.  I sat and savoured a beautiful Szechuan-chili laden deep brown broth with crushed peanuts and garlic sauce.  It was incredible.

I was truly hard-pressed to come up with a regular “Me First” list of things I had done.

I do do little things: like no matter how late we are running to get to school I will always pause before driving away, and put on a quick smear of lipstick.  This gives me a brief second of taking care of myself, and allows me to pull my appearance together.

I know.  Not much, right?

So I move forward, trying.  I will try and do more for myself, and take care of myself unilaterally, and without an agenda or others in mind.  In some ways this is the antithesis to the maternal role:  I have been so busy looking after everyone else, that I almost feel guilty taking time for myself.  This is wrong, and was rightly pointed out to me – if I am not okay, how is everyone else going to be okay.  It’s the “oxygen-mask-drops-in-the-airplane-and-you-don-your-mask-before-anyone-else’s-habit that I need to get into.

So, dear reader, don your oxygen mask and take care of you.