I’ve been anticipating six days away in nerd heaven since March, and while I had some anxiety about leaving Miss E for so long – mostly to do with maintaining our nursing relationship, since I’m not ready to give it up and I know it’s best for her to nurse until age two – I felt confident in my husband’s abilities to comfort and care for her and I thought for sure I’d be having a good enough time that I’d be able to cope.
I was so, so wrong.
For two days I missed my little family, but I managed alright. While I noticed families absolutely everywhere, I felt sure that there was no way I could have managed to enjoy myself with Miss E in tow (though I have to admit, the babies in costume were irresistibly adorable).
By the third day I found myself crying and resenting the distance and time between us. Now I’ll admit I am a ridiculous homebody and have been known to get the sniffles when I’ve been away from my husband for more than a few days, so it’s not like this behavior was without precedent. But I just wasn’t prepared for how intense my anxiety would be, how distracting my loneliness, even though I was among friends.
I ended up buying a bus ticket to come home a day early, and it was 50 bucks and nearly ten hours well spent. When I laid eyes on my little pajama clad gal in her car seat grinning and wondering over her absent mama, I felt immediately and immensely relieved. Once we were home and she was settled in her crib after nursing – thank goodness! – my husband asked me if I’d missed him, too. And I had, in the ways that I was used to, and in a new way, too. I’d missed my husband and I’d missed our daughter. I missed being a part of a family.
So next year, we’re going together.