I remember reading - oh, years ago - a reflection by a woman whose custody agreement was split 50/50. She talked about wandering her house, looking in on empty beds and missing her children.
I'm going to be honest. I am happy for my 48 kidless hours twice a month.
I don't spend those hours in any exceptional way. I sleep - a lot. I watch what I want to watch on Netflix. I exercise (sometimes). I work. I clean. But for 48 hours, I don't have to worry about making sure other human beings are staying fed, hydrated, or clean, let alone productive, creative or connected to me.
I could worry about whether they're eating vegetables at their dad's - but, hey. 48 hours without veggies won't kill them. And worrying will only rob me of what teensy bit of sanity I have remaining.
A friend calls me a "Divorce Baby," which he defines as anyone in his or her first year post-divorce. I still have several months until I level up (September 24, but who's counting?) but I am looking forward to a summer of beginnings as I learn to accept my new reality.