Posted November 05, 2010 by
I'm at the coffee shop right now and Greg is home with Veronica. It's my writing day, and I'm getting a lot done.
While I love these days, nestled into a warm seat in the corner, doing the very thing I like to do best, I feel a pervading nudge of guilt. Guilt about being away from my daughter. It's always there, the guilt, but more so when I'm doing something so obviously self-serving. (Unless of course I sell the book I'm working on to much success and am able to further our small family. Think good thoughts!)
I don't think that Veronica has ever gotten sick of being with me. She never seems to grow tired of my presence. While this is sometimes exhausting and nerve-fraying, it's also incredibly sweet. Yesterday at the grocery store she rode around on my hip the whole time, rubbing her cheek on my shoulder now and then and whispering, "Mama," with a smile on her face.
See why I feel guilty being away from her?
Last night I had a bit of a cry in the bath. It was one of those days where I just couldn't shake the tension I was feeling. Tension about everything. About nothing. I left work early. I napped a little when Veronica did. I went to yoga. I did all the things that I need to do in order to pull myself out of a funk like this, but nothing was working.
The bath was my last attempt to quell whatever was ailing me. And all I did was sit there and cry. Probably what I needed to do all along.
I was crying about my mom, actually. About how I don't even really miss her anymore, because she's been gone so long that I can hardly remember what it was like to have her.
Except, the thing is, I do remember. I remember because I am a mother now. And because I am reminded all the time of just how much I lost when she died. Veronica and I have only been together for a year and a half. Give us another 16 and then take it all away, and that's what I had.
I'm well aware that my challenge as a mother will be to not worry about how much time I have with my little girl, to instead just soak up every little "Mama" sigh, enjoying what we have in this very moment. But sometimes I have to cry about it.