My husband and I finally went away to celebrate our fifth anniversary this past weekend. (Our anniversary was in June.) Back then, it didn't work out to go away for a variety of reasons. The biggest one was that we weren't ready to leave our little girl behind. As I thought about it, I realized that I have been there every morning of her life. How weird was it that I wasn't this past Saturday? For her, it didn't seem to make a difference. For me, it was significant. How, I'm unable to say, but it was sad and liberating at the same time. She is ok if I'm not there, but does it make a difference that I'm always there on a regular basis? She woke up at Grandma's house, not pining for me, but continuing with her routine, as if I nothing were different. I'm glad she was content and pleasant, as usual. But did she notice I wasn't there?
I continue this entry nearly a month after I began it. We've left her again, when we went to a wedding last weekend. I'm over it, I think. I'm over myself, I mean. She doesn't need me. I mean ultimately, at least. I am her number one caregiver and she'll probably recognize that more as she gets a bit older, but all she needs is love and familiarity right now. Grandma and Grandpa love her and that's all that matters to her. Also, they and their home are familiar to her. Ugh...growing up is tough, for all of us.
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