I just packed a bag that's suspiciously light. There are nursing pads but no nursing bras. There is a breast pump but no bottles. There are clothes but none of them are size 12 months or 4T. No diapers, no wipes, no plastic toys, no board books, no monitors. Just a bag with some clothes, some books (YAY!) and a few (Okay, 6. But there's still more room! 7!) pairs of shoes.
On Friday we leave for a weekend away from the girls. Even the hairy one.
At night, instead of sleeping, I engage in a furious round of every neurotic mom's favorite game: What Horrible Things Could Happen. The fact that CG is planning on flying us in a small plane only adds fuel to the insomnia fire. CG is a safe, uber-competent pilot. And I know that, statistically, flying in a small plane is actually safer than driving but it doesn't always feel that way when I am watching the ground fall away beneath me as our little metal pod rattles and yaws and rises into the sky. No matter how we get to our friends' wedding though, the thought that something could happen to us when we are away from our girls feels terrifying in that very special it's-not-just-my-life-anymore-now-that-I'm-a-mom way. I'm no longer scared of what it would feel like to have something horrible happen. What keeps me up at night is what it would mean for our girls to lose us.
(It doesn't help that I just read Anna Quindlen's latest novel "Every Last One". JEEBUS. Her writing is as smooth as always but I wouldn't recommend this book if you are at all prone to mom-related neuroses.)
CG and I desperately need this vacation. Barring any last minute germ infestations (*knock wood*), we're going to have a blissful two and half days together. We need this time to reconnect with each other, to remember who we are as a couple when we aren't tag- teaming as parents. To wake up in the morning with no needs to attend to but our own. To have uninterrupted conversations and private bathroom visits. To share several meals in a row where we both can remain seated the entire time. To dine and dance and celebrate with friends who knew us before we had a dog and kids and a house with a white fence out back.
I just hope I can let go enough to enjoy it.