The last day

Its Wednesday morning. The last day of travel is always the worst. You have to wake up earlier, to give yourself time to finish packing and load everything up. Then you go to work. As with most workdays, especially when you’re not in your own office (or cubicle), you’re just hoping the day goes by quickly. But all you have to look forward to when the workday is over is a long drive home, then lugging all your junk back inside, unpacking and starting a laundry pile. You get to see you family, but it seems so far away and by the time you do see them, you’re all exhausted. Meg will already be in her pajamas and all I’ll get to do is read her a book and put her to bed. Which is way better than not seeing her at all, but its hard to put her to bed a half an hour after getting home when I haven’t seen her for almost 3 days.

When we were in the car this morning, I was thinking: what if this was my life? It was really strange to go 2 ½ days “without” a daughter. What if Meg was gone? What if I had to go back to the way it was before? I just can’t imagine it. There’s no “going back.” These last two nights, I got a lot more sleep. I watched a lot more TV. I went out to dinner. But I would rather be at home, running around like crazy to unpack the diaper bag, do some laundry, wash the bottles, feed Meg, and put her to bed. Not that I’m saying I didn’t enjoy 2 days of a break. I did, actually. But I’ve had enough and I want to go home now!