The Nursery Is Gone

While I wouldn't be so stupid as to say that it won't happen, I'm not really homesick yet. I have an occasional wave of homenauseousness but so far I haven't had to put my head in the toilet. The weird part, the part that assures me that I am, indeed, a head case in need of therapy, is that the mere thought of one thing in particular makes an automatic lump form in my throat. I miss my son's room terribly. My sister-in-law (who will be temporarily renting our house) asked Troy if she could paint it. Troy said he would have to think about it. That was the last I heard on the subject until Troy informed me that he told her she could paint it but not to tell us. My mom didn't get the memo that it was a big secret and brought it up on the phone. I'm not mad at Troy for telling his sister she could paint it. I'm not mad at my sister-in-law for painting it. I'm certainly not mad at my mom for telling me what I already knew. It's just that for some reason, even with him and all of his stuff moving to Utah, it still felt like his room as long as it was blue. I sometimes feel like the worst mom for making him move. I know he's a toddler. I know he won't remember. I think that almost makes it worse. He won't remember that every Sunday after church he made my dad take him to the playground. He won't remember how he would take himself out in the backyard to play with the dog. He won't remember his blue room. The last few days have been difficult for him. When it's time for me to put him to bed, he clings to me and cries. I want, more than anything, to pull him close and let him sleep with me. I also know that I am not going to undo all of the hard work Troy and I have put in to not having a baby/toddler/six-year-old who sleeps with us. So, though my head isn't in the toilet yet, I have the occasional moment where all I want to do is transport myself back to early November. I want to sit in the glider in my baby's room and rock him. I want to have one more minute with the blue nursery.