Those miss you nights

I like to complain about the fact my four year has decided our marital bed is his bed and daddy should sleep permanently in the spare room.
I like to complain about the fact that despite having the whole of a kingsize bed to sleep on, the boy only really likes to sleep cuddled up as tight as possible to his mummy. (ie me).
I like to complain that my last five minutes of sleep are inevitably disturbed by a wee voice calling out "Mummeeeee" and pudgy hands trying to pry open my eyelids.

I like to complain about it, but take it all away, and I feel a little bit lost.
Last night I stayed in Belfast in a relatively nice hotel and had a bed all to myself.
And I couldn't get to sleep.
I tossed and turned, despite it being very late and me being very tired and my brain kept doing that warm and fuzzy just about to fall asleep thing before the wee voice in my head said "Hey, look at you, just about to fall asleep" and woke me up again.
And then I woke up, approximately once every hour, feeling as if a part of me was missing.
When I eventually woke up proper I phoned home and the boy told me how he was eating his breakfast and he was going to go to school soon.
I thought "That's my job" - all those morning things which drive me to distraction every day. It's my job to be woken by a hyper child, and to try and feed him a semi- nutritious breakfast, and get him dressed, brush his teeth and usher him out the door. It's my job to chatter to him all the way there in the car and to get the biggest kiss and cuddle ever when he leaves me to go into school.
Perhaps I have been taking my job for granted a little too much.
It's 3.5 hours til home time - til I get a big squishy and tell him I love him. I can barely wait.