So we did the move today. My daughter is now in her apartment and SO happy about it! After the big push was over, everyone else left and I stayed behind to help her do the fun chores like putting away her clothes and making her bed. She made a very innocent comment that really hit me in my core. I was putting her clothes in the closet organizer and commenting at how many things she had that I didn't recognize. It kind of surprised me because I didn't realize she had such an expansive wardrobe. She said, "Yeah, it's kind of cool to finally have all my stuff in one place."
Boom.
You could have knocked me over with a feather.
Her father and I separated 13 years ago, so she has split her time evenly between her dad's house and mine ever since. We live very near each other to keep the transition easy for the girls, and it just always made sense to make sure they had full wardrobes at each house so they never had to pack a bag to go back and forth. Of course, this spilled over into other items as well. After all this time, we had really fallen into a comfortable rhythm, and I guess I got lazy. I stopped thinking about what it means to live in two houses. Sure, she got even time with both parents, but she also had to be constantly mindful about her schedule, her needs, and what was where. She just rolled with it because she didn't really have a choice in the matter. This constant planning will end for her now, and the relief that has to bring to her makes me want to cry. In fact, that touches my heart nearly as much as the fact that my daughter doesn't live here anymore.
It's kind of humbling to remember that I am 43 years old, and I'm still figuring this s*&^ out every day.
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