Yesterday was the first warm weekend day this spring. I celebrated by taking my kayak, Loretta, for a spin on the lake, our first outing this year.

Loretta is a bright yellow, flat-bottomed, 9 1/2 foot Perception recreational kayak. She has no flotation, no hatches, no spray skirt, and no rudder. She’s basically a floating bathtub. Loretta’s one great advantage is that she is short enough for me to load and unload by myself. Even before Aitch came along, Husband was not all that into kayaking, so I knew that any paddling trips would be a solo effort. After Aitch arrived, I assumed that kayaking was a no-go activity, as babies, water, and tippy boats are incompatible. But toward the end of last summer, when we had finished moving into our new house and our travel schedule let up a bit, there were suddenly windows of opportunity. A sunny, mild spell would coincide with a nap, or a husband willing to take the baby and dog for an extended walk, and I would load up Loretta and go before the wind could change direction, or Husband his mind. That’s pretty much how it happened yesterday.

Early spring is not the lake’s best season. The trees are still bare, always disconcerting (Silent Spring, anyone?) in 60-degree weather. The runoff from the wet winter has overflowed the banks, leaving the lake’s perimeter ragged and untidy. The birds are still on vacation. Also, the wind kicked up at inconvenient times. My paddle can be put together so that the blades are “feathered,” or at 60-degree angles to each other, so that the out-of-water blade is not catching the full force of the wind. I, however, have never mastered the special stroke required to use a feathered paddle, so as I have to use the non-feathered configuration. I’m about as aerodynamic as a block of wood. Yet — alone, quiet, sun, water! Glorious.

Also, guilt. It’s the curse of the adoptive parent. We spent so much time and effort bringing Aitch into our family, and now, on a weekend, our two days of family time–I’m walking away voluntarily? It’s not like I’m terribly stressed out or never get any time alone. My work-at-home job is just busy enough to necessitate 30 hours of day care a week for Aitch, but not so busy that I can’t have a cup of coffee or go for a run during the day, or take an afternoon off, or, occasionally, have a whole week off because there are no projects. I always seem to have more free time than the other mothers I know. Is it because of my situation, or because I insist on it?

Maybe I feel guilty for not feeling guilty — for enjoying the silence, the exercise, and the solitude.

Then again, as the next day brings 40-degree temperatures and 20-mile-an-hour winds, I feel grateful that my selfishness allowed me that time on the water.