By day four of a business trip out of the country, my heart truly starts to hurt. By day 7, as I’m supposedly enjoying a final night out with colleagues it’s nearly intolerable. And it’s not just the third rendition of the Don’t Cry For Me Argentina cover at the South American themed restaurant in Prague that’s blaring from the speakers right into my ear.
My mind is skipping right to the moment I walk in the door, let my suitcase fall to the ground feel those little arms wrapped around me, break open the travel gifts, and cuddle on the couch like I never want to let go, jet lag be damned.
Yes, it’s maybe 16% working mom guilt (a number that seems to be decreasing by the year, praise be). Mostly, it’s the pain of absence. Continue reading