Pop Goes the Diva
If you heard that loud popping sound around 1pm yesterday and were wondering what the heck it was, my apologies. That was the sound of one of my apron strings popping.
In my construction of single parenthood, there’s no visitation. No “every other weekend and two weeks in the summer” type of arrangement. I’ll confess that sometimes, when I’ve felt overwhelmed and utterly exhausted, I’ve watched my solo mom friends send their kids off for a weekend with Dad with a tinge of jealousy. But on the whole, I’ve been pretty content with the 365 day a year routine that’s been my life for the past seven years.
It’s not like Bree has never been away from me before. I’ve left her with Gramma and Grampa for the odd weekend over the years, and when she was three my parents took her with them on a ten day trip to the east coast. Even now, four years later, I’m still hearing about Peggy’s Cove . She had a blast, and honestly, so did I. Sure, I missed her, and it was a big step to let her go, but I was also pretty confident and unconcerned–afterall, she was with my mom and dad, people who had literally known her for entire life.
Yesterday, Sabrina got into a van and headed off on fabulous adventure–a weekend of camping in one of the province’s nicest provincial parks. Without me. Or any family member. Even though it’s only a four day trip this time, I somehow found it harder to let her go.
It’s not that I don’t trust who she’s going with–I’m very confident that this woman will take very good care of my Diva Girl. Afterall, she’s our babysitter as well as our friend. And I have no worries about Diva Girl’s behaviour–well, not many. It’s just that I’ve never sent my baby out into the world like this before.
I know that she’ll be fine. Better than fine, even. And that she’ll come home filled with excitement, stories, and probably pinecones she’s picked up along the way. But it’s hard. It’s another step in the slow process of my daughter slipping out of my grasp to create her own life. It’s a good thing, really.
But I still want to squeeze her harder, not open my arms wide to the world. Hence the “pop.”