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In November of 1999, I walked away from the Artboy for the last time. I stood up out of his bed after telling him that I was leaving and, over his protests and hopeful prophecies, walked downstairs and drove away. I knew it was finally for good, even if he hadn't yet accepted that. As much as I loved him, I knew it was the right thing to do, and it was the hardest leaving I've ever done.
Ever, that is, until yesterday, when I walked out the door and went back to work for the first time since Will was born. I left him with my mom and returned to my desk, where my boss kept me extremely, extremely busy for the next ten hours.
I only called home twice. The second time, at 4;30, when I couldn't stand it any more, I had my mom put the phone up to his head so I could hear him breathing. I talked to him, and he cooed back at me. He hugged the phone. When we hung up, I cried. So did he.
I arrived home at 5:15 to find him asleep on my mom's chest, the last 20 minutes of the two hours he napped all day. I stood next to her, patting his head, until she said, "You want to take him, don't you?" I nodded. "Well, Jennifer, go ahead. You can--he's YOUR baby."
And he is.
Tuesdays are going to be hard.
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