Separation Anxiety

I should be packing right now. Tomorrow I'm flying to DC for a weeklong seminar on military/war reporting. It's a heavy-duty, 9 a.m. to p.m. crash course that includes segment topics like Fundamentals of Military Analysis, Covering Terrorsim and Insurgency, War Game: Avian Flu -- a National Emergency and other such light-hearted fare.

It starts off with a weekend hazardous environments training session in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The seminar director declined to comment on the details of those two days, so I fully expect to dodge both bullets and killer dogs. From my experience on the crime beat, I know for a fact that target practice on reporters is the universal fantasy of anyone who carries a gun for a living. In the very least, I expect to be pushed into the mud.

I can handle all that just fine. The real challenge is making it a full week without my girl. When I first got accepted for this training course, I was elated. The thought of seven days among my peers with nary a poopy diaper in sight was positively intoxicating. But the closer I get to actually walking away from Riley and getting on a plane, the more nervous and emotional I become.

My mom's here to take care of her while I'm gone. Riley's in excellent hands. She adores her grandmother -- almost too much. There's another issue. Mom is a baby whisperer. All children love her on sight, especially those under the age of 5. My sister Kim warned me that I should be prepared for Mom's Svengali-like influence on my daughter. "Riley won't even know you're gone," was Kim's verbal gut shot. So that's only adding to the stress of my first long trip away from my little one. Mom told me she's worried Riley will cry for me every day. I told her I was worried that she wouldn't.

Is that just tremendous ego on my part? How insecure must I be? I'm a good mom -- I know it, Riley knows it, my husband knows it. So shouldn't I be hoping she has the time of her life and doesn't stress in the slightest that I'm not around? Shouldn't I be looking forward to a full week of life like I knew it just two years ago rather than looking under my chair for a cracker crumb grin? Do I have to write a note on my hand to remind myself not to be jealous of my mother?

For more than a year I've been pining for the freedom to leave the house without a diaper bag, sleep soundly without involuntarily shooting out of bed at the first crackle of the monitor at 3 a.m. or even just sit on a toilet without first checking for little hands on the seat. Now here I am with a whole week to myself with no one to look after but me, and I find myself almost crippled by the need to be needed.