Every Other Weekend.

It's 9 PM. I've been listening to my baby holler and cry for a good twenty-five minutes. So, I go in his room. It's a sea of tears and snot and sweat from all his hard work at trying to get me to come and get him. He has succeeded. He reaches out to me with Pooh and puffy, sad, puppy dog eyes. How am I to say no? And what kind of person/mother would I be if I left him in there another second? So, I grab him up and he squeezes me so tight! Hugs! He's really charming now. It's over. So, I take him in my room. He giggles and pulls the covers up around him. We trade hugs and kisses and tickles and he gives me hug around the neck with both arms. I close my eyes and take in this hug. I know that tomorrow he has to go away for the weekend.

It's 9:45 am. He's dressed and ready. He has all of his overnight items. The time I'm dreading is drawing closer. We put on socks and shoes. And one last diaper check. He grabs Pooh and I put on his jacket. We get in the car and go the mile to the meeting place. We get down the street and turn in to the same ole spot and it's time.

I unbuckle his car seat fighting tears behind my sunglasses. I'm glad he won't see if one slips out. Even after all this time, it has not gotten any easier. It's been well over a year since this every other weekend business. I give a kiss and a hug to my favorite little boy and make small talk about him to his dad. He puts him in the car, buckles him in, and drives away. My heart swells with sadness before I eventually lose it and cry. Every single time. The sadness encompasses me like cancer invading a healthy immune system with plans to take over. A large piece of my heart always goes with him. I lose a piece every single time. Divorce happens. I know this because it happened to me. That part I have gotten over. I can't seem to get over sending my boy away. Even if it's only for forty-eight hours. I feel empty now. I sit in my car in the gas station parking lot and squall. It's no longer crying. I can no longer speak English. My tears multiply, and my nose is running. It's a complicated situation. And I can't keep him from his father. So, while my heart is away, I spend the weekend either trying to keep busy or I fail miserably and watch old episodes of Grey's Anatomy or How I Met Your Mother while I lay in the bed.

When I get home, there is evidence that a small person has been there. Toys everywhere. I leave them for awhile. But, then I inevitably pick them up and that's where his toys stay until he gets home. I know that's he's not gone forever. But, there's something about not being able to kiss your son goodnight. I don't know what he's doing and it's hard. We FaceTime later that night and I tell him night, night and exchange air kisses and he's in bed and so am I.

Before I know it, it's time to pick him up. I speed the whole way there. No judgement please. I'm excited. He's usually outside with his dad waiting on me. He always smiles so big when I pull up. And that empty feeling goes away and my heart is full again. My frown fades and the tears tuck themselves away and everything is right with the world. He runs and hugs me, telling me he's happy to see me with his eyes.

I don't know much. But, I do know that my love for Noah can fuel me to climb mountains. And I know he loves me too. Even though he can't say it, I know it's real. For a few minutes of sadness on those weekends he's gone, he gives me days and days of happiness and love when he's home. And I've always been told that you can't appreciate the good without some bad, too. So, as I sit here at the beginning of a weekend without Noah, I know that I'll appreciate Sunday just a little more this week. Sleep tight, my love, Mama will see you soon...