Just a few more days and I’ll be soaking up the rays in Hawaii with my five oldest BFFs. The MILFs Gone Wild ’08 Tour.
Whatever. Humor me.
No husbands, no significant others, no children. I should be psyched. I should be dreaming of surf and sand and drinks adorned with pink umbrellas I’ll collect to bring home to MP. I should be counting the minutes because I can’t wait.
Not because I’m FREAKING OUT.
I am, by nature, a worrier. I’ve purposefully pushed the trip from my mind because I knew as my departure drew near, I would start the nauseating downward spiral toward mild panic. The longest I’ve been apart from MP is three nights and that was hard enough. This is a little longer.
I know by the time I finally GET to the island I’ll be okay. And the first few days will be full. But I also know by the third day I’m going to be missing four-year-old declarations of “heavy poops that stretch out the poop hole.” And subsequent four-year-old concerns that if she takes a drink of water it will go right through.
That I’m not a good flyer only makes it worse. Metal detectors are not my friend. When I travel, I wear a hefty silver cross around my neck. And a smaller cross choker. And cross earrings. Back when my job required a fair amount of travel and time spent at airports, co-workers would be all, “Hey, wait for Mommypie. She’s the one carrying the enormous wooden CRUCIFIX on her back. That thing gonna fit on the plane?”
I worry more than anything something will happen to me and I’ll leave MP an orphan. I worry that maybe I’m being selfish and needlessly putting myself at risk by flying over the ocean. I worry something will happen to MP and I’ll be thousands of miles away.
Exhale. Aaannnd breathe.
MP worries that pirates will get me.
Argh. At least we got THAT straightened out.