By the time you read this, I will most likely be in Argentina. No, I haven't run away from home (although I did pack an extra large suitcase just in case).
I'm here on business.
No, I am here for my day job. You know, the one that actually pays me.
How long will I be away?
TWO WHOLE WEEKS.
If you are having trouble wrapping your brain around that, imagine how I feel.
If you are feeling bad for Mike, DON'T. He's going to spend the first five days out of town at a bachelor party. Mazzy will be with Grammy and Grandsam (my stepfather Sam) until Mike returns for week two. And Mazzy's also got Ruth (our nanny) with her during the day so she will be just fine.
It's me I'm worried about.
I'm actually at the airport right now and the good-bye was nothing short of dramatic. Me waving from the taxi with Mazzy looking back at me over Mike's shoulder as he carried her into the distance. (The distance being Grammy's car parked further down the street.)
I practically burst into tears.
I've only been away from Mazzy a handful of times overnight. The longest being the five day vacation Mike and I took back in January. Five days felt like a much needed break. Two weeks feels like I will come home and Mazzy will be reading Chaucer and drinking espresso.
Every day there is a new word, a new look, a new song memorized, a new thing she finds funny. Every night, I look at her as she sleeps and am amazed how much more space she takes up in her crib. I can't even imagine how much different she will be in two weeks time.
In order to make myself feel better, I made a list of things I won't miss:
• Changing diapers (obviously)
• Cleaning dinner up off the floor
• Telling her not to scrape her toys against the china cabinet
• Chasing after her in case she attempts to throw herself off various playground structures
• Scrubbing crayon off the dining room chairs
• Barney at 6am
• Following her around with a paper towel and a dust buster
• Forcing her to go to bed when she wants to read "I Can Share" for the 400th time
• The constant worry that I left my flat iron on and she's gonna get to it before I do
• Yelling at her to stop touching every hydrant, planter or random city sidewalk fixture that is mainly used as a dog toilet
• Having to leave a restaurant mid-meal because she won't stay in her highchair
• Wrestling my phone out of her hand so she won't kill it with drool like last time
• Fearing she'll break my glasses when she rips them off my face every morning like clockwork
The list goes on.
Sounds like being away should be a party, right?
Maybe. If it wasn't for her new favorite game…
We play in the hallway of our apartment building. I sit on the floor and she walks backwards until she has established as much distance between us as possible. Then she says "Ready?" which is my cue to hold out my arms. At that point, she runs towards me at full speed, crashing her body against mine, ending with the tightest hug imaginable. We hold that position for ten, maybe fifteen wonderful seconds. Then she releases and walks backwards again. We play over and over and it never gets boring.
I hope she still wants to play when I get back.
Note: Barring some unforseen set of circumstances, I will still be blogging on my normal schedule. Also, tomorrow is my one-year blogoversary, so I'm not about to miss THAT.