Kids.
They hit the soft spots.
They don't mean to.
And yet. They. Just. Do.
They say these things and just hit exactly where it hurts - with no ill intentions - just the innocence of children.
As you know, my daughter is at grandparent camp.
I talk to her every day. Or, I should say, every night.
And she gets me every time.
She's doing great.
Having an incredible time.
Loving life.
But nighttime is tough for her.
It always has been.
And so, when she calls in the late hours of the evening - bedtime closing in on her (and me!) - she whispers into the phone.
"Mommy. I miss you."
"I can't sleep without you."
"I just can't do it."
Oof.
Soft spots.
If you've ever heard your child's voice on the other end of the phone, you know what I'm talking about. They almost always miss you. Even when they're having the time of their lives.
And when it comes to bedtime, I know she misses me.
It's easy to process when she's at her dad's place.
She and I talk for a little bit and I reassure her I'll see her the next afternoon, or within days. That helps. A little.
But I can't do that right now.
I need to reassure her that she's fine with her grandparents.
That her cousins will be back soon.
That her father will be there soon, too.
And that all will be normal again.
And that she'll see me in a few weeks.
But man.
It stings a little.
The tears on the other end of the line, on nights where I've already found myself curling under the blankets, or on top of them, holding on tightly to my own reminders that she'll be home soon.
Reminders that soon enough I'll be rolling my eyes and saying things like,
IT'S TIME FOR BED.
And ...
DID YOU BRUSH YOUR TEETH YET?
But for now?
I'll take a deep breath or ten.
I'll tell her I miss her, too. Always.
And that I'll see her soon.
And that I love her. Always.
Soft spots.
Every single time.
