M left for the grandparents yesterday. Honestly, I'd been looking forward to her trip for a few weeks. The last few months have been nothing more than a series of illnesses--colds, ear infections, chest infections, yeast infections (yes, God help me, those too)--and poor M seemed to bear the brunt of it. Unbeknownst to us, she was apparently suffering from a viral and bacterial double-whammy...while we simply chalked up her spawn of satan behavior to that old standby: The Terrible Twos. Anyhoo, nothing a ten-day dose of antibiotics couldn't cure.
But I digress.
As I was saying, we were all a bit worn out and ready for a break from each other. Enter my parents. They came for Easter with plans to bundle little miss off after Sunday brunch. M was ecstatic. I, however, found myself lingering over her small suitcase feeling more and more depressed about her upcoming departure. Finally the moment of truth arrived. M was locked and loaded into my mom's blue Prius. K and I stood w/ baby Z on the curb waving and smiling maniacally as M sped off to the nearest freeway onramp. We walked back into a house that seemed suddenly diminished and very empty. Later that evening I went into her room to drop off some newly folded laundry and tears came to my eyes.
Ever since M was born three years ago, I've become a walking Hallmark ad. The most random things will set off the waterworks. I have more empathy than I currently know what to do with. It's gotten so bad that I can't even watch sentimental TV ads without tears welling up. So I guess it should come as no surprise that M's departure gave me a serious case of the blues.
I spent today stalking M. Called my parents no less than four times to check in and hear her voice. During my late teens and early twenties I obsessed over boys. Now I spend my thirties obsessing over my daughters. Is this normal? Will I become more relaxed over time? Or am I doomed to be like this forever?
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