The vacation that wasn't ready to be over

This has never happened to me. Every time I go on vacation, by the time it's time to head home, I'm ready. Sure, I had a great time and enjoyed every minute of it, but there's always something about sleeping in my own bed, cooking my own food, and just existing in my own space that makes me ready for home.

Not this time.

Maybe it wasn't long enough. Maybe I had too much fun. Or maybe it's all that and more. The thing is, coming home from Napa was hard. The weather? A buzzkill. The lack of progress in potty training? Exasperating. The return to routine? Too mundane. Maybe I can't handle too much excitement in my life because then it makes all the beautiful little things of my everydays that I love so much pale in comparison. Which is kind of sad when I think about it. I want to enjoy the highs, for sure, but I also want to enjoy the average day. Otherwise, what kind of life am I living?

I recognize that things with Little haven't been easy lately. Maybe I wasn't ready for that. I confess that I didn't miss her as much as I thought I would. I confess that I was glad for the break, the relief. Those confessions bring tears to my eyes because why wouldn't I want to be with my child? But the cold hard truth remains: I needed those days off, for my sanity. Things haven't gotten any easier; in fact, they've gotten harder. I keep telling myself that one day, she will wake up in the morning without crying, get out of bed, go downstairs, watch TV, pour herself a bowl of cereal, and let me sleep past six-thirty... or later. One day, she will use the potty all on her own; after all, no one goes to kindergarten in diapers. One day, she will read books to herself and go to sleep without crying or begging to be tucked in a thousand times. One day, she will be able to tell me what she is so afraid of all the time. One day, I'll wish she still needed me as much as she does now. One day, I won't worry about any of these things because even now, I know that these worries and stresses are relatively small and I shouldn't sweat the small stuff. But tonight I do.

And while I will gladly hold her and comfort her and give her everything she needs (even if it means letting her cry it out at times), there still are moments when I am just not ready for that vacation to be over.

The consolation, though, is that through it all, the good, the bad, the hard, the easy, I am not alone. In the relay race of parenthood (a race where one is running only against the clock), I have the perfect teammate. He picks up when I can't go on; he gives me the strength to keep on going even when I'm tired of the same thing every day. And I do the same for him. Maybe the vacation isn't totally over. We left together, we rested together, and we came back together. We can face those mountains that get made out of molehills in toddlerland together. That and much more. The "together" part hasn't changed. That part of the vacation doesn't end.