72 Hours
72 Hours.
“The mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It requires the most intense love on the mother’s side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully independent”
That’s the maximum amount of time I’m used to being away from my baby. Although it’s taken long enough, I’ve finally come to accept that. At first, I had a tough time adjusting to time away. I’d often wonder “so, what am I supposed to do?” Getting used to life with a child is getting used to including him in EVERYTHING. So, what do I actually do? That’ll be another blog post…
But, imagine graduating from 72 hours to 168?! That translates to 10,080 minutes … or seven days. I mean, it really just depends on how you look at it. I’m sure it’s apparent how my mind processed that. The initial anxiety of trying to mentally prepare for a home absent of little feet pit pattering around the floor, a basketball soaring across the room, the smell of a school week’s worth of flourless muffins baking in the oven, not having to pour apple juice every hour on the hour, negotiating the amount of time left for watching Paw Patrol before bed…
The list is endless but, really, having to imagine not engaging in those tasks is a bit stressful. [If you aren’t a parent, I could understand all of those things actually giving you anxiety. This one’s for us though.] So, I had to collect myself, I mean really do a better job at coping with not having to accomodate my toddler for one whole week. The 2021 version of me simply could not. Every single waking moment was spent thinking about him, wondering what he was doing or what we would be doing if he were with me. I wondered if he missed me and hoped that he was not as sad as I.
2022 me committed to doing better. I was not allowed to lay in bed all day with the curtains shut tight pretending to watch a movie. No, I had to get up and go to work for four of those days. While it’s really not something I wanted to do, it helped me to pass time and to get me going without even thinking about it. Once my four hour block of work was out of the way, I could go on about my day without having to make sure I was back on my side of Queens to pick up my baby from daycare. The possibilities were endless! I could retreat back home and enjoy a movie of choice while sprawled across my couch munching freshly popper popcorn. I could also opt to hit the gym for as long as I could. I could even schedule last minute plans. The week was spent reading, catching up with friends, self caring and, ultimately doing all of the things I did in my twenties without feeling any remorse or mom guilt for it because my child was not awaiting me at home or at a family member’s home. The day I had to welcome him back home, I felt like a better mom, for once. I had done all of the things that I owed myself while he was away and could continue to love on him in the way that I was used to. I can only imagine how much the time away in the next few years will continue to improve, as the initial anxiety and and agony will dissipate as I will recognize more and more how healthy it is for us both to be apart.
