Peanut and her daddy are bundled and packed off to his Momma, and I am bereft. I was looking forward to this day for weeks, thinking of all the things I would do with my free time (sleep! shop! sleep! massage! pedicure! sleep!) but it appears I will do none of these things, because it feels like someone cut off a body part and misplaced it, and I keep looking over my shoulder wondering what I'm missing. No, nothing like King's Missile. I can't sleep well, because I wake up with a start, wondering where she is. It was worse when I was out of the house at the co-op this morning, feeling like I'd left my purse somewhere except more so. There is the chaos that my house always is after a big packing job, and that must be straightened before class tonight or I will go insane when I get home, so no pedicure. I had hoped to do the cleaning before today, but with Peanut's teething and vaccination fretfulness I had to spend the last few days just holding her. Now I want to wail, Oh why Oh why did I get irritable about holding her all the time when now I can't hold her AT ALL, all the way until tomorrow afternoon? What is wrong with me as a mother? (In case anyone is wondering why I am being so dramatic about this, please understand I have never been separated from her for more than four hours, in her entire life. This, to me, is a big deal). The guilt! Did you know being raised by a lapsed Roman Catholic can apparently instill almost as much guilt as being raised in the church itself?
In fact, yesterday I was lying in bed wondering how on Earth I got to be in this place, which was lying in a creaking, smelly bed while wearing sweatpants with holes in the crotch, so sleepy I couldn't keep my eyes open, while my daughter held on to one of my ears and whacked me in the head, repeatedly, with an empty Infant Tylenol box. Not that I would take anything back, because then I might not have her. Though I now have a wonderful fantasy of having sex at exactly that same moment in time with my husband, except that we are doing it in our French villa, and have a maid who'll change the sheets later on. But who knows what his sperm might have been like after a life of champagne and fine French produce? I still might not have her, so it's not worth it.
Anyhoo, I am flying down South tomorrow morning, and I have no idea whether or not I'll be able to post or read until I am back on Monday. So I wish everyone have a Happy Thanksgiving, whether it involves turkey and mashed potatoes and football, or tofurkey and mashed turnips and protesting First Nations treatment by the US government (I'm with you there, except for the tofurkey part).
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
You Can Get Out Your Tiny Violin
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1 comment:
The first time you are truly seperated from them is always the hardest. It only gets a little better each time. As soon as the door closes on them, you let out a loud Yahoo!!, but within 2-3 hours, you wonder what you are going to do to occupy the time until you get to see her again. Crazy isn't it? As they crawl all over you like a jungle gym and constantly talk in some ancient, forgotten language, all you want is 5 minutes to yourself. And then when you get your 5 minutes, all you want is to hear their giggling and laughter.
But, that being said, you need to enjoy the time you have been given. Relax, read a book, take a hot bath, forget the cleaning, and go get that pedicure.
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