This morning I woke up exactly as the clock turned to 5 am. The alarm wasn’t set to go off until 6. That’s what happens.
I skulked around in the dark looking for my lost sunglasses (never found), pumped a final bottle of milk (hate that), grabbed my suitcase and my laptop, then tearily kissed my children goodbye at 7:15 am sharp. My first night away from Sage.
I headed to the airport feeling that brutal, familiar combination of guilt about leaving, anxiety about the meeting, and happiness at having one solid night to myself. One solid night to have a steak dinner with coworkers, many cocktails, then maybe some mindless TV watching (A movie? A whole movie? Quite possibly!) in my room before falling into what would hopefully be my first uninterrupted night of sleep in close to a year. I could see the sleep. I could taste the sleep.
And then I felt so happy about it that I felt guilt about the happiness.
That’s what happens.
My plane landed, I trudged through the Florida humidity to a cab, I checked into my hotel, flopped down for a full five minutes on the bed, and then rushed out for The Big Meeting.
In the cab, I got the call.
“Sage isn’t eating.”
“What do you mean she’s not eating?”
“She hasn’t eaten since you left this morning.”
I did the math in my head – 8 hours. 8 hours and the baby who nurses every two hours hadn’t eaten anything. She hadn’t slept either.
During The Big Meeting I got the IM.
“She’s eating! Yay!”
A half hour later I got the IM.
“She’s not eating.”
And so back to the hotel I went, grabbed the yet unpacked suitcase off the yet unslept on bed, glanced at the unturned on television and the unplundered minibar and headed straight back to the airport. Feeling like the bad mother who left her baby who won’t eat or sleep. Feeling like the bad employee who can’t stay for dinner. Feeling generally…what’s that expression? Oh yeah, like shit.
That’s what happens.
There is an internet connection now at least, in the terminal otherwise devoid of amenities like food (guess it’s Ritz Bits for dinner tonight) and cocktails (argh). Also, the carpet reeks of dog urine. So here I sit.
And I wait. (And I try not to cry.) And I wait. (And I try not to breathe in through my nose.) And I wait. (And these Ritz Bits taste like absolute crap so I’m going to switch to the Twix.)
And I wait for the last flight home.