This morning as I got both the boys ready to go to their
grandparents house my heart sank a little. They'll be with their grandparents
tonight, during my awards reception, until Friday evening when Chris gets them
after work. I won't see them until I get home from Blogher on Sunday. It's
amazing how some days I feel so tired of their company, how some weekends I
can't wait until they're at their grandparents' house so Chris and I can have
dinner or go to a show. It's days like this that I feel bad for ever thinking
it. The people who said that motherhood was hard weren't exactly honest. It's physically taxing, yes, and sleepless
nights are the first thing new parents or childless people think of whenever
they think about parenthood. No one tells you how emotionally difficult it is, how there's never one right way to
feel, how everything, even something as simple as a three-day trip can turn
into a heart-wrenching mindjob. Parenting exaggerates all emotions.
I rolled their little suitcases down the steps, each one
carefully packed with coordinating outfits, pajamas, and extra socks. I gave
them their breakfast and tried to ignore how this would be one of the longest
stretches of time that I wouldn't see them. Liam is a trooper, always an
optimist. His presence in my life has done away with a huge part of my
cynicism. Ewan was good until it was time for Chris to take them, at which
point he realized that I wasn't coming along. He didn't cry those mustered up
"I didn't get my way" tears; he put his hand in front of his eyes and his
little body heaved forward in one giant sob.
"I miss you," he cried.
I screwed my face up in an expression of determined
happiness and beamed at him. I told him that I would miss him too, and that I
will be back on Sunday, and how I was going to call him after he fished with
his grandparents and ask him how many fish he caught. And I hugged both boys
and with my head over Ewan's shoulder I mouthed to Liam "Take care of your
brother," to which he nodded.
Then I waved at them as they drove away and when the garage
door was safely closed the dam burst and I bawled standing there in my
houseshoes and pajamas in the backyard. And I said a little prayer asking that
we all be brought back together again safely on Sunday.
I admit now that I have a near-debilitating fear of flying. It's not for drama's sake: I break out into hives on my neck, chest, and upper arms; I get nauseous, and I have trouble sleeping the days building up to the flight. I researched plane crash survival rates and even practiced free-falling techniques. (SHUT UP.) I've always had Chris on the plane with me; last time en route to New Jersey Jaelithe and Lisa sat on either side of me and I was doped up on Dramamine and everything was cool, daddy-o. This time I'm alone. I get freaked out because, despite the laws of physics, it seems unfathomable that a giant metal bird can fly, but yet it does, people fly on them everyday. It's a combination of this, leaving the boys, and being around a herd of women I mostly don't know that have me out of my comfort zone and feeling on edge this morning. I'm sure I'll feel fine by this evening. I hope my guys will, too.