Friday, 5 August 2011
Just the Two of Us
I smiled as I kissed him goodbye; I said "have fun!" as I slammed the car door and I waved cheerily as we reversed out of the drive. And only once we were on the road and it was impossible for him to know, did I let the tears roll down my cheeks and the stupid sobs loose from the tight recesses of my throat.
Because even though I was heading off for a long-overdue day out with my hubby and my boy was safely entrusted to Grandma, and even though I knew he would be fine, and I would be fine, and everything was just fine, it still felt guilty and scared and sick for no apparent reason.
I still struggled to hold a conversation with my husband because I was too busy worrying about what John would make of being left for the very first time, I still checked the clock obsessively throughout the day to see whether he would be napping or visiting or making his way back home, I still punctuated every conversation with his name, saying 'John would have loved this' or 'we have to come back here with John', and every time I spotted horses or birdies or bees I felt a sharp pang of regret that I had no one to point them out to and delight with at their presence.
Once the separation had settled and the sun had begun to shine I did relax into the day and enjoy the luxury of time spent at a pace that was entirely our own. I enjoyed the giddy elation of swinging through the trees, I enjoyed a quiet and leisurely lunch and I enjoyed walking through bracken as high as my waist with a man who I married just four years ago.
But despite knowing that I was having a lovely day, and despite appreciating the novelty of time alone with my man, it was a stunted sort of happiness, and I couldn't help but feel that I'd left half my heart behind at home, and that there would always be an ache in my smiles unless my boy was by my side.