My oldest child is not at home. He is spending the night at a friend's house tonight.
It is the first time he has done such a thing.
He's not here telling me about various inconsistencies in the Star Wars the Clone Wars vehicles episode to episode. He's not telling me a joke he made up which is not a joke.
He's not here.
I don't like it.
I won't lie and say I've never been without him - I have. I've travelled for work and stuff and been away from him. But he was HERE. He was home. If I am here, he's supposed to be HERE.
Now he's at the home of one of his very good friends, with a wonderful family and I hear there is pizza and ice cream sandwiches going on tonight and I KNOW that this is going to be a night he talks about forever. He is doing what I did so many times, over and over and over.
He's having a sleepover.
He's never had sleepovers at grandparents or relatives, no one ever lived close to us. He's never had friends to have sleepovers with until now - so I never had to cross this bridge.
I didn't know I wasn't ready when I said yes. I didn't know I wasn't ready when I rolled up his sleeping bag or packed his backpack and picked out jammies. I didn't know I wasn't ready.....until we drove away.
I don't like it because it's the first of 1000 steps that will take him away from me into his own life. And I don't begrudge him or want him to have anything BUT his own fulfilling independent life.
But he's 7. And frankly, I just wasn't ready.