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13 Reasons I Sing The Every Other Weekend Blues

I always preach about the importance of sharing (seriously, I am so annoying), but I am heartbroken when I can't hoard him to myself. Here are 13 reasons why I can't help but sing the every other weekend blues.
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An unhappy woman sits in a child's bedroom with her head in her hands. She is holding a soft toy that belonged to her child. The bed in front of her is empty.
An unhappy woman sits in a child's bedroom with her head in her hands. She is holding a soft toy that belonged to her child. The bed in front of her is empty.

There are some things I will never get used to. Take daylight savings. We gain sleep -- every chronically overtired mom's BFF -- but it's replaced by a cool darkness, a hollow emptiness, a deafening silence that takes hold right after the kids get off the school bus. I know it's coming, and I know I will adjust... but I hate it.

I feel the same way when I say goodbye to my little boy every other weekend. I rip a frayed band-aid off a wound that will never heal every time I pack his bag for his dad's. It's a special kind of sting only a divorced parent knows.

I always preach about the importance of sharing (seriously, I am so annoying), but I am heartbroken when I can't hoard him to myself. Here are 13 reasons why I can't help but sing the every other weekend blues.

  1. I need his hand. I reach out for it when I cross the street sometimes, even though I know he's not there. I can't stop myself.
  2. I worry when I am not there to supervise, to consider the over/under of him getting hurt, to protect him from himself.
  3. I wonder if he's had a bad dream, if he woke up wanting a kiss from his mommy, if he feels abandoned.
  4. I miss admiring his devilishly adorable dimples as he flirts with the grocery check-out girl in his five-year-old way. I miss delivering a mom-mastered-dirty-look when he begs, barters, and, ultimately, pleads a little too loudly for an unnecessary addition to his Matchbox collection.
  5. I long for my son's top-of-the-head smell. Hell, even the stinky little boy smell is welcome when I am in withdrawal.
  6. The dried up pee I need to chisel off the toilet, the flatulence, the burps he pushes out for a belly laugh... they all don't seem so bad when he's gone.
  7. I miss our giggle fests. There's no sweeter sound than his laughter. And no one makes me laugh more than my hilarious little boy!
  8. I hate the internal dialogue I have in his absence. I can't help but feel jealous when I see other moms with their little boys.
  9. I am sad I have to forfeit moments of his childhood that I can't get back. I am not the one who gets to take him trick-or-treating this year. I got his costume and took pictures of him in advance, but it's not the same as being a part of the memory.
  10. The lack of "Mom! Mommmmmmyyyyyy! Ma! MOOOOOMMMMMMY!" cries gut me. When he's here, they can grate on my last nerve, but it's so different when he's not.
  11. There's no substitute for his beautiful face. I see the best version of me, my greatest contribution to the world, when I look at his beautiful face. I don't like my reflection in the mirror when I am without him.
  12. I want to hear his voice. Did he learn anything new today? What did he do? I have no idea from a distance.
  13. I struggle when I can't hear his heartbeat. He listened to my heartbeat when he lived inside of me for 40 weeks. My heart hurts when we are separated, and I can't help but feel his heart hurts too. They just belong together.

What do you miss about your kids when they are at your ex's house?