Recently, my husband went out-of-town. It wasn’t for long, and I knew it would be tough to hold down the fort alone, but never for one second did I consider how lonely I’d feel. My entire life, I’ve thrived on alone time; time to read, watch bad movies, write my little stories, cuddle with the dog, and eat ice cream right out of the tub. It’s been my nirvana. But suddenly, this time, I felt at loose ends.
First of all, I missed the presence of another human being who could talk in full sentences. Don’t knock full sentences until you go a day without one. Not to mention that he’s potty-trained. Never once has my husband pooped his pants and asked me to help him with it. That’s gold in my book.
Secondly, I didn’t feel much like reading or watching a movie or even writing. I just wanted to see him, eat dinner with him, tag team him in when our daughter started throwing her dinner on the floor. I realized I liked my husband much better then I thought I did. I mean, if I were a single parent, I’d get used to being alone. Alone would be my normal. But pathetic as it sounds, I was really glad we were in this together – because without him here, our bed was too big, our house was too quiet, and our children were going to do me in.
Each day the loneliness/missing an arm feeling got better, but still, it surprised the heck out of me. Me, Miss Independent, missed my husband. I never would have believed it if I hasn’t seen it for myself.