Dear Reese,
Tomorrow, I leave you for a week. Work trip.
I have been taking one day at a time as the date approaches, but after I pack during your afternoon nap, I cry. I am going to miss you. And that is a wild understatement. Plus, every fear imaginable pops into my head as I dread us being apart for six nights.
While we load up the car in Bailey’s Harbor to come back home earlier today, you hug me as I hold you in the back seat. It lasts minutes. It is sweet and lovely, and I wish I were still in that moment with you.
Tonight, when I put you to bed, you keep picking up your books to read them again. Or half read them. We read Goodnight Moon three and a half times. One of the times, I recite from memory while you go to fetch the fallen book from the carpet. Maybe we should have read it six times, one for each night we’ll be apart.
You’ll be in safe and loving care with MorMor and Cappi, of course. And we’ll FaceTime every day. The goodbye will be the hardest part. And then we’ll both have to trust that the week will go by quickly.
Love,
Mama