So I spent two nights away from both my girls (and my husband) this weekend. This is a first. I’m amazed as I say this but I haven’t had time away, just me (and a lovely bunch of ladies) since my eldest was born nearly 4 years ago. Possibly since my hen do the year before she was born, in fact. June 2013. We sat by the fire and drank wine and talked. And talked. Without interruption. We actually finished sentences and switched off, concentrating on us and not our small people for a change. We had showers (and wees) without intrusion and we walked 5 miles to the pub (in a blizzard) at an adult pace. With NO BUGGIES or slings, or nappy bags. We lay in past 6am and leaving the house didn’t feel like a military operation. What a treat!
But as I rounded the final corner back home today, I felt that surge of adrenaline and excitement at the prospect of seeing my gorgeous family again. It had felt good to miss them.
There can be too much of a good thing. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. A break is good as a rest. And any other clichés that spring to mind!
Needless to say, the meltdown that ensued over a pass the parcel gift at a birthday party later in the day made me reconsider my glee at having returned at all. The most beautiful cottage with a lovely lot of ladies.
