I’ve been there, my friends. And to draw upon my Hoosier roots, I can
honestly say, those days/weeks/months ain’t
easy.
So here’s my question:
how is it possible that I miss my kids, even our somewhat humdum
routine, after about 20 minutes of travel?
I suppose now that I’m a parent of two little ones who I
adore on even our most trying days, it is that bittersweet, poignant
realization-- that only comes with parenthood-- that I have so much to
lose. I know it’s morbid. But really, I've given everything to these children
in the past several years, and as a result, they (and yes, my husband) mean
everything to me. My family truly is my
reason for living.
So especially for someone who has always been a nervous
flyer (yes, I know. It’s safer than
driving etc.), flights take on a whole new level of anxiety when I’m
leaving the kids behind at our house, warm and cozy in their little beds, as I
find myself dozens of miles above them.
(Image from Wikipedia)
(Image from Wikipedia)
I also miss the little things almost immediately. I miss my son (with his confused pronouns) shyly
professing “you love me.” I miss my baby
daughter and her snaggletooth, gummy grin when my husband or I walk in the
door. I miss their wet, sticky kisses,
their chubby little hands and feet.
However, everyone around me (even me before heading out)
encourages me to take a break. They remind me that it’s important to get a little space. That it’s good to miss them a little.
So, every couple of years, I do it.
For a couple of days, I venture out solo to visit a family member or meet up with
an old friend, and I say a little heartfelt prayer to keep my children and me
safe during my journey, so that we can continue our lives as a happy—if
imperfect—family.
~Julia @ Frantic Mama
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