Better Than a Webcam
And poking me in the eye.
And sticking her fingers up my nostrils.
And smashing her forehead into my cheekbone.
And digging her nails into my neck.
And kicking my stomach.
And I was very very happy. About all of it.
Because this morning I woke up in LA, the beginning of another extendatrip. And this time Thalia--and Nate--are right here with me.
Just last week I arrived home after five days without the baby, and discovered she had to reacclimate to me. She remembered me, but fussed when I took her out of the arms of her grandma. She sat in my lap, but cried when Nate left the room. As my former therapist used to tell me, I'm very good at saying, "I'm okay! I'm okay!" most especially when I'm not. I wasn't. It was difficult. No, it was more than difficult. It sucked. Big time.
But this morning, awakened by the grabbing and poking and sticking and smashing and digging and kicking, I dragged my sleepy, jet-lagged self out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. While there, I heard Nate comforting our whining daughter with, "don't worry sweetie, Mommy will be right back."
And I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt.