This morning, I woke up earlier than intended, feeling an all-too-familiar tightness in my chest. Despite the peacefulness of the new day, there was an unsettling sense that something was missing. The quiet hum in my mind made it impossible to drift back to sleep. The reason? My children, who had spent the previous nights at their father’s home.
I miss my kids—and surprisingly, I find joy in that feeling.
When my partner and I separated, we quickly agreed on a shared custody arrangement, having discussed it even before our children arrived. We envisioned a balanced approach, where each of us could enjoy both the joys of parenting and the necessary breaks from it. In those hectic days of caring for a toddler and an infant, we often joked about a hypothetical escape clause: “If one of us leaves, that person takes the kids.” Once the separation became a reality, the arrangement allowed us both to savor our time with the kids while also having space to breathe, regroup, and even explore dating.
However, I had a nagging worry—that I would relish my alone time too much and grow resentful when my children returned. I feared that I would become so accustomed to the absence of chaos that I might not want to embrace the full-time responsibility of parenting again. I even questioned my own love for them, worried that I might not miss them at all when they were away.
In hindsight, I realize that these concerns were a product of the difficult emotional landscape during our separation. The months leading up to and following our split were incredibly stressful. We were navigating the complexities of co-parenting while trying to share our living space. As my ex moved out, I oscillated between feeling suffocated and relieved. The environment was charged with discomfort, and my emotional resources were stretched thin, making parenting feel overwhelming.
Now, however, that transitional phase has passed. My ex has settled into his new place, and we’ve divided our shared belongings. The kids have begun to navigate between their two homes, which has allowed me to engage in a form of obsessive nesting—painting, organizing, and redecorating. When they are with me, I feel more at ease, more present, and better equipped to respond mindfully to their needs.
When they leave, I experience a bittersweet twinge of longing. It’s not a desperate ache but rather a gentle reminder of their presence—like the Archie comic lying in the bathroom, waiting for them to return. There’s an odd comfort in knowing that they will come back to me, and in the meantime, I dive into activities that bring me joy. Sometimes, that means enjoying a simple dinner of cheese and crackers while watching television. I work, socialize, exercise, and even contemplate dating.
In this new phase of my life, I am grateful for the love I have for my children and the balance we are creating together. Their absence signifies that I am a committed and loving parent, not a selfish one. I miss them when they’re gone, and that’s a good thing; it means I am fully engaged in this journey of motherhood.
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Summary:
The author reflects on the complexities of parenting and the emotional landscape following a separation. While missing her children during their absence, she finds solace in the balance between motherhood and personal freedom. This experience reinforces her commitment to her children and highlights the joy of their eventual reunions.