I’m tired of being a mother. That doesn’t mean I’m tired of my children.

Gabriel, my almost-four-year-old son, was telling me a story about a slug while I checked his bag. I was listening, looking for his water bottle and thinking about what we needed to buy for dinner. Angelina, his seven-month-old baby sister, had just woken up. Then Gabriel asked if we could go out.

I wanted to say I didn’t want to be a mother for an hour.

The thought surprised me. I loved being with my children. His slug story was actually rather good. But I was tired of my role as a mother: being the person who knew what was left, what was missing and what we would do next.

What tires me isn’t necessarily their presence

When I tried to explain my need for a break, I started by saying I wanted quiet. That wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t the whole story.

I could have quiet while he drew and still be watching the time, preparing an answer to the next “What are we doing?” or calculating whether the clothes would be dry for tomorrow.

What I wanted to interrupt was that availability which stayed switched on even when nobody was asking me anything.

I didn’t need to convince Gabriel that his questions were excessive. He was nearly four and had a slug to describe. It was for me to find another adult to take over, not for him to become less of a child to relieve me.

Saying I was tired took nothing away from the pleasure of listening to him. It gave me a clearer indication of what I needed.

A handover that doesn’t leave me in charge

Their other parent offered to take them to the park. I immediately started explaining where the coats were, which snack to take and when to come back. I was already organising the break from organising I’d just requested.

We started again differently. He could pack the bags, choose the park and handle coming home. Useful information, yes; my supervision of every detail, no.

That kind of handover isn’t always available. Some days, you have to ask someone close, reduce the programme or acknowledge that an arrangement no longer works. And if tiredness persists, an hour at the park won’t solve everything.

But that day, we could start there. I didn’t prepare an activity to make clever use of my time. I sat down and left my phone face down on the table.

When they came back, Gabriel had a new story, this time involving a dog. I was happy to listen. I hadn’t had to organise his walk.