… when part of your luggage is worry.
Since DD was born, I have had 4 nights away from her. Two were when she spent the night at my mother’s over Christmas and I was a suburb away. One was when I eagerly went interstate for a work matter. The other was last weekend when DD had an overnight stay with another relative.
I am heading off on a considerably longer holiday and this time it’s without DH and DD but with my family and family friends. I am really looking forward to the trip but haven’t been able to get as excited about it as I have for previous trips. I know that part of it is because I am a bit depressed and sad after some sad things happening in the past couple of months. Understandable.
But the other things pressing down on me and stopping me from skipping jubilantly? Worry, fretting and more worry. I worry that DH will not be able to look after DD adequately, even though I have written down things in the past and explained and demonstrated things. He doesn’t seem interested in listening or watching or reading. What more can I do? I honestly don’t know. I guess that he will be OK and he has a list of phone numbers of people he can phone for help and ideas, and his family can come to help out. The last time DD and I went away for 5 days interstate, we came back to a filthy house and no minor housework or chores had been done at all. I was furious and even thinking about it now gives me a hot, hard knot in the chest.
He has, thus far this year, spent nearly 6 weeks away from home due to work or hobbies. I lost count of the number of weeks away from home he spent last year or the year before. And yet here I am, spending two weeks away, and I am worrying like he has never worried. I could cheerfully bop any twit who says “Oh, it’s just mother guilt.” Mother guilt, bite me. In this day and age, this is not acceptable.