I went away this weekend as a mommy.

I came home a single woman.

To some this would be a ticket to a wild and free week to do whatever. Me, I’m not loving this freedom.

My son and I have trekked the last four years almost completely on our own. With the help of family and friends here and there, I’ve raised him with only me as his sole parent.

He’s a tough booger. He’s defiant and head stronger. He’s extremely intelligent and very silly. He’s tall and taken for a six year old regularly, rather than the 4 year old that he actually is.

The fact that he’s survived this long is a huge accomplishment for this single mommy.

So when he started spending time with his other parent I took it in and enjoyed my free time. It was so rare that I often over booked myself with things to do.

But for some reason, this visit isn’t going as smoothly for me. I miss him something terrible.

Maybe it’s because he’s gone during a week that I’m at work so nothing for me has changed. He’s just not here. I still get up, get dressed, pack my lunch and arrive late to work the same as when he’s here. Except he’s not.

It’s a slippery slope to tread when your daily routine has shifted ever so slightly. There is a very fine line between relaxing and lazy. And I’m treading it clumsily.

I need a pick me up. Some motivation to continue. To breathe. To have purpose.

Because, in the four year I’ve lived as a mommy, the 25 years before that of being “just me” have all but been erased. He is my purpose. My motivation to do most anything.

And when he’s not here I find I have little reason to get out of bed.


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