This past week was Spring Break (Whoo!) and P. went on a backpacking trip with a friend, leaving me alone with our toddler for a night.
It. Was. Awful.
It wasn’t specifically the epic three poopy diapers or the unexplained two straight hours of crying (seriously, usually this kid never cries). It was the loneliness and the fact that there was no chance of a break. When he’s here, even if he’s studying for a big test, I can chat with him. I can take five minutes to go upstairs or 20 minutes for a semi-uninterrupted shower. Within 24 hours of him gone, I was going crazy.
It wasn’t like the previous times he’d left us for a night or two, like when he was interviewing. Back then we were still living near my parents and I could take the baby and the dog to their place for the weekend. Now we live 500 miles away from them.
Needless to say if 36 hours was awful, 5 weeks (840 hours!) of P. being gone was going to be something I don’t have adequate words for. If it weren’t for the pets (dog and two cats) I would probably pack up and drive the nine hours to my parents. Since that’s not realistic, I mapped out My Plan to Survive Boot Camp. It’s like My Plan to Survive Med School, turned up to 11.
Read more here.