I haven’t even left yet and already I’m homesick. I went to several different summer camps when I was younger. Most of them were dance camps that were only a few weeks long. Yet still, even though I loved what I was doing, I had the worst separation anxiety. That feeling of homesickness is so real and so gut wrenching for me that it’s my body’s go-to reaction when I’m leaving anyone I love.
I finally told my older daughter yesterday that I’m going away. We were playing outside and the timing just seemed right. She was happy and laughing with me, telling me that she wanted to go back to the farm where we do apple picking. So I said, “that would be so much fun. Ya know, I’m going to go to the doctor for a few days, but maybe Daddy can take you there.” And she said something like, “just me, Daddy, Dovey (her nickname for her little sister), Nanny, PopPop, and Gammy?” I told her yes and then we went back to playing. It kind of felt like a weight had been lifted because I’d laid the initial groundwork. But moments later, she gave me a huge hug and kiss and didn’t want to let go. It wasn’t in a sad way. I think for her it was in a very happy way, but it took everything I had not to start balling. Homesickness rears its ugly head again. The same emotion crept up as I put the baby to bed. Cuddled in to me chest to chest, I felt it rise up again threatening to break the dam I’ve worked hard to build up.
My strength and the countdown dwindle together as if they’re one. Part of me wishes I could stop the clock, the other is ready to just get it over with. I think I’ve done everything I can to prepare myself and my kids. It almost feels like I’m about to go to camp.

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