There was a rumour going around that I'd been looking forward to this day. After three years and six days of twin-wrangling, I felt I deserved a couple of days a week to myself. I'd had the day on the calendar for months, and have been planning a whole lot of life to coincide nicely with it and the weeks to follow.
We've had a month of milestones and major life happenings for the small people in this house. First days, birthdays, and now this. I expected to feel a pang. I didn't anticipate the kick-to-the-stomach smack of emotion that I got as I drove away. They were excited, kissed me goodbye happily, didn't look back. I edged away feeling unexpectedly bewildered. My babies.
And I returned home, looked about vacantly and was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. A bone-tired exhalation and collapse.
So busy are we clearing the path and smoothing things over for the big stuff in their lives, we forget that they're the big stuff in our lives too.
(They had a wonderful day, were dancing in a circle at pick-up time, and we had a hard time convincing them to come home. Tonight I feel OK again. And now I'm going to sleep.)