This week, I learned the definition of separation anxiety.

I do, occasionally, in real life, travel for my job. Generally this means that, when I work, I’m gone from home for three or four long days at a time. These days are when things like unlimited text messaging come in handy. Since the wedding I’ve been lucky enough to arrange my schedule to the point that I’m only gone for a day, maybe two, at a time.

Not this week.

This week, I got a full dose of on-the-road blues, which managed to hit me right in the stomach from a hotel room in Sacramento. It was absolutely no fun, no fun at all.

It struck me, as I attempted to bribe myself through my funk with a vanilla latte, that I’ve become much more dependent on Shayne’s mere presence in the past several weeks than I ever thought I would. I mean, I like being around him, which is probably a good thing, but we’ve started to turn into this working unit thing where he’s a part of everything I do. Which sounds a bit odd, but is, in fact, so much fun.

And not being there with him, at the end of the day, to do the little things we do together and make dinner and talk about our days and listen to each other and tuck ourselves in at night and start the next day together was… strange. Except that it was kind of beyond strange and into the land of uncomfortable.

It’s amazing how close you can grow over what seems like such a short period of time. We were best friends long before there was a ring on my finger, but it’s becoming something different (and even better) now, where we know each other a little bit better every day and how much we can rely on each other to help and support and love and enjoy the things around us.

Which means that, despite my intense awareness of my husband-sickness (as opposed to the home-centered variety), I fell asleep in my hotel room, with my husband a thousand miles away, excited beyond all reason about the changes in our relationship that have been sneaking up on us.