I am still finding brightly colored plastic donuts from the Rock-a-Stack—in my purse, under the couch, in the back seat of the car. Colbie really liked those plastic donuts—especially the green and blue ones.
I’ve folded up the high chair, put away the bibs, collapsed the stroller, washed the sheet for the Pack-and-Play portable crib. I found the three little books I tried to read to her one day, but she just wanted to eat them (lending new meaning to the term “this is a really good book”). She especially loved “Go Dog Go.”
Whenever I hear a noise, I momentarily think, “Oh, Colbie’s awake,” until I remember she’s not here anymore and the noise is really just a cat wanting to come inside or a dove coo through the open window--or maybe Tom scratching himself.
It seems like every time I turn around, there’s a reminder that Colbie is back in Arizona and I’m back to being a civilian again—an off-duty grandmother.
Withdrawal—grandbaby withdrawal. I’m not exactly in a fetal position, but it’s darn close.