The child hasn't reduced me (yet) to a pile of blubber, though it was touch and go for a couple of days. For some reason, all modes of transport were a sticking point with him, so it looked like I was either going to be a prisoner in my own home or rendered deaf from his paralyzing screams. Get him in the stroller, put him in the car seat, you'd think I had put bamboo under his fingernails, which was none too easy for me to deal with. Trying to think while your tot turns purple and starts choking with the force of his screams is perhaps more impossible than trying to fly to the moon in a sailboat. I know, I've tried. My prediction that I would be eating dried beans straight from the bag was looking more like reality all the time, until the strange mood that had overtaken the bun seemed to disappear as quickly as it came. But my husband and I have discovered the wonders of iChat, and we have the clever little video cameras hooked up so that even though he's 6000 miles away, he can show me around where he's working and introduce me to the cranky French assistants and I can show him the drooling bun. It's making the whole separation tolerable. And because we're on laptops, I actually strolled around the house and showed him that absolutely nothing had changed since he left, including the crap on the coffee table.
Perhaps the bun just misses his papa. He seems to be a little sponge for whatever stimulus is around him; no doubt he picked up on the stress and sadness of his pop's departure, and then wondered where the "bald monkey who provides good flying and a dry butt" went. Today is New York Times day, so in honor of my husband I'm going to read it to the bun. Granted, I never read the hard news anymore since it makes me too depressed, so we'll focus on Arts and the Style section. The boy needs to know what's "in" this Spring. I hear camoflage diaper covers are hot on the Paris runways.
So I have absolutely no clever observations at all, except that single parenting is tough. I raise my coffee mug to all single mom's (and dad's too) and commend you on a job well done.