The Boy is at his dad’s and has been for about a week.  He sounds happy and relatively tired when I talk to him on the phone each night.  While I miss him a bit, I am still savoring the respite: besides a few days this summer (Thank you, Fantastic Babysitter!) and a few days in June (Thank you, Grammy & Poppy!), this is the first extended break I’ve had since February.  In fact, by the end of this next week, it will be the longest time I can remember being separated from The Boy, ever.  For the same reason that I don’t feel guilty for being a working mom, and for the same reason I don’t feel guilty when I have the rare opportunity to go out with friends or The Man, I don’t feel guilty about enjoying this time right now.

This makes me a better mom.

Without this time away, the threshhold for frustration gets dangerously low, and a whole range of negative emotions starts brewing.

The Man and I do feel like something (someone, more like) is missing at times, and we get bored a little more easily.  Ask me in three days, and I will definitely be missing The Boy fiercely.  But for right now, it feels good to not really have to worry about meds, schedules, and sharp crayons.  And The Boy is actually spending time with his dad.  It’s a win-win.