Running Away: Are You Still a Good Mother if You Fantasize About Bailing for a Few Hours...or Years? The fantasy first presented itself during a conversation with my artist-truck driver friend Walter. "I'm hitting the road again," he told me one afternoon. This is his life--6 months escorting cargo cross-country, 6 months back at home making art. Here's what went through my mind in about 1.8 seconds: I could see Walter, sitting in the driver's seat, his paint-stained hands on the enormous wheel. Pan right over to the passenger seat... and there's....me! backpack tucked at my ankles, pen in hand, journal on lap. I am tagging along, mile after dusty mile, writing all sorts of great, masterful things and eating all sorts of bad, salty things. It is a glorious, pivotal time of my life. Can you hear us jamming Lenny Kravitz?.... I want to run away, I want to flyyyyyyyy away. Then, around the 1.9th second, the fantasy was interrupted. "Excuse me, over here, on your other shoulder. Quick reminder: you have a husband, three small children and one very large to-do list; you're not going anywhere. Now, weren't you about to throw a sheet of Bounce in the dryer?" What intrigued me was the fact that I had this fantasy at all. I mean, I love my kids. I love my husband, except for when he forgets to give me phone messages. I love our broken little house. And if the right music is playing and the rain is falling just so and I'm feeling too melancholy for my own good, even the most mundane domestic detail can seem pleasing--like, say, the fridge cluttered with the kids' artwork, snapshots and assortment of cheesy, promotional magnets. In short, I like my life way more than I like road trips. So why the fantasy? Am I a despicable to even have this thought? I did what any respectable American reared on guilt and talk shows would do: I tracked down and spoke with a couple celebrity therapists. *** A Beverly Hills clinical psychologist by the name of Dr. Judy was the first to bring the good news: I TESTED NORMAL! She told me that until we have kids, we are more or less in a self-serving state. Then baby arrives and breaks up the big me-fest. She says the fantasy of running away is useful and healthy because it helps prevent the mother from 'acting out' her impulses. Case in point: The subject is writing this from her home office, not from a semi truck. As you might recall, the expression misery loves company was first coined in 1748 by a sleep-deprived mother. In other words, I was thrilled to hear just how common the fantasy is. Dr. Harriet Lerner, author of "Mother Dance: How Children Change Your Life" says of course mothers want to flee when we consider the unrealistic expectations, the enormity of responsibility and sacrifice which is rarely equally shared by another adult. Thank you. Indeed raising kids is a mother of a job. And it's tough even when you have major forces--such as a mate, financial stability, relatives in town--working in your favor. For those moms who have little or none of the above support, the flee fantasy is even more understandable. Hillary's right: it does take a village. And a lot of coffee. So what are we to do? Dr. Lerner prescribed the following: 1. Understand that these feelings are totally normal. We need to lose the guilt: most of us are struggling from one hour to the next. And you know those moms who have "easy" children? Don't speak to them. 2. Connect with other mothers. Do this early on, like, say, the minute the epideral wears off. 3. Gather all the support you can. "Self-sufficiency is the archenemy of mothers everywhere," warned Lerner. As with doing the New York Times Crossword puzzle, no one expects you to do it single-handedly. Seek and accept the help of others. 4. Let go of perfectionism. Just drop it. And look at it this way: if you really were a perfect mother, everyone would hate you. I always imagined that all the other, better mothers were swiftly gliding through parenthood, and would never, my God never, feel like bolting. Our culture does a pretty good job of presenting motherhood as this blissful, Downy soft state of being, and so we feel guilty and ashamed when what we actually feel inside--bliss yes, but also frustration, exhaustion, occasional nausea--doesn't exactly match the manufactured illusion. "For how beautiful and powerful and wonderful motherhood is, there is pain," Anne Stoline told me, a Baltimore psychiatrist specializing in women's mental health."It requires constant growth and vigilance. And women who are able to maintain their perspective--perhaps partly through fantasizing--know that ultimately there is relief." Yes, now I see it....the light at the end of the McDonald's playplace tunnel. It's relentless, motherhood is. That's the most accurate way I can put it: relentless. Relentless in its demands, relentless in its joys. There is always one more carpool, one more tantrum over the wrong color sippy cup, one more birthday party to get a bright, plastic present for. Yet, God willing, there is always one more lopsided popsicle-stick jewelry box, one more smile from across the park, one more chorus of "Mommy's home!"