Empty. My house is empty. I took my boys to the airport at the crack of dawn and watched them walk away from me, their backpacks hanging low on their tiny hips while they held tight to daddy's hands. My eyes burned and I cried all the way home, regretting my decision to stay behind.
My house will be empty for the next seven days. Just me, my stinky dog and my cats. I don't expect you to feel sorry for me. In fact I know most of my mama readers might be downright jealous. It sure does sound appealing doesn't it? Normally I would embrace this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and live it up. But things aren't normal. I'm seven months pregnant. Although I have lived in the bay area for 1.5 years, I still don't have the same network of girlfriends that I have had earlier in my life, so I have few plans for the week. If I were given this gift while (not pregnant) in Denver, I would have immediately planned a girls-night-out at my favorite Lola's. I would have hosted a wine tasting party at my house. I would have hit happy hour with old co-workers. I would have seen a chick flick with my sister.
But that was a different era. Now, I am hormonal, unable to drown my misery in Cabernet, have fewer girlfriends and live far away from family. As a result I am feeling acutely alone. Sad. Missing my family. Worried that my boys won't miss me enough.
Looking on the bright side, I'll have plenty of time for all of my favorite Bravo television, I'll get to sleep in and probably even get a massage. It could be worse, I know. But humor me a little, I'm a bit weepy, so drop me a line and say hello. I could use a little love.