We’re off on a float trip for a few days, and my 1-1/2-year-old is going to stay with my parents. It’s amazing how much I can already miss the same child who makes me throw my hands up in despair every time he spills milk all over the floor or unfolds the clean laundry. Besides missing him – I’m afraid. I’m like Paul and Jamie on that episode of Mad About You when they were going to take separate planes so that Mabel would not end up completely parentless if one of the planes should wreck. I don’t like that the whole family is going to be in the same little car racing down the highway risking life and limb while poor little Jake waits at home. What if we have an accident and leave him forever? And do I realize that what I’m actually saying is that I’d rather we die together than live apart? I went away for a weekend once without my husband or sons and literally wrote them a goodbye letter in my journal, just in case. I’m very dramatic that way. And just like that time, my fear feels very, very real. I told my husband it doesn’t feel like an irrational fear, it feels like a premonition – and then I cited the time mentioned above when I wrote the goodbye letter. “Right. So did anything happen, though?” he said all calmly and rationally and completely lacking in drama. “No,” I admitted. So I’m totally fine now. I’m not the least bit afraid. C’est la vie, right? Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go write in Jake’s journal.