I love my daughter more than I can ever describe. She’s smart and beautiful and she’s curious and she gives the world’s best hugs. I love her and I love being with her.
And there are nights like tonight when I just want her to go to sleep. I want to put her to bed and have her fall asleep and have time to myself, with quiet.
And the guilt washes over me.
I sit and listen to her and wait to see if she’ll wake up so I can go in and see her and prove that I do love her and I do want to take care of her. And I want to cry.
Life used to be easier. It didn’t matter if I stay up late on the weekend, or if Joe had to go out of town. It didn’t matter if one or the other of us had plans. It didn’t matter because we didn’t have this little person to think about – who is going to get up with her, who will take care of her, who will pick her up.
And I think of going back to the life we had before her, when things were simpler, less confusing and convoluted and my heart aches at the thought of not seeing her, not hugging her or talking to her or watching her. She is my whole being. Without her I would be less than half the person I was before her.
How is it possible to want to be with someone and away from them at the same time? Is this motherhood? This feeling torn in half all the time? No one told me about this. No one told me that so many of the tears would be mine.