Last night Rob and I slept in a cushy bed in a somewhat swanky hotel. Alone. Westley stayed with my parents. It was the second time Rob and I were away from him overnight, but somehow, it was much harder this time.
Maybe it's because we've turned yet another corner and embarked on a phase that can best be described as a near-constant Mommy/Westley love-fest. I'm not sure what I did, but Westley loooooooooovvvves me all of a sudden. He can't get enough hugs and kisses, and he's constantly pounding on me as a sign of his never-ending adoration. (I think it's a sign of affection. I think he's trying to pat me.) He cuddles up to me on my big bed at nap time, and it makes my heart just melt. I just want to snuggle him all the time! Still, it hadn't escaped my noticing that being crazy in love with my son leads to its own kind of exhaustion, and I was looking forward to the break.
Naturally, I couldn't stop thinking about him the entire time we were away. As Rob and I climbed under the very neat, very white covers in our spotless room, I wished our grubby little dude were snuggled in between us. It was sad to think I wouldn't see Westley first thing in the morning. I wasn't worried about him, even though evenings and mornings have been a little tough lately. My parents know a thing or two about babies, Westley is almost as passionate about Grandad as he is about me (Grandad has tools!), and I was pretty sure things were fine at home. I just missed him.
It's hard getting punched in the face by one's emotions. But it seems to happen all the time now, as my intellectual self wrestles with my emotional self. I now suspect that mothers drive their children crazy because they themselves are being driven crazy on a daily basis--just by being mothers. Living with "motherhood" as part of their internal lives.
I feel a little cheated out of a mini-vacation with my husband, but at the same time, I love how much I love my son.