J-F was telling me about dropping Helena off at her grandmother's house yesterday and her interminable cuteness. While he was still pulling her bag out of the car, Helena marched up the walkway, the purse she loves slung over her shoulder, and knocked on the door.
I could picture it so vividly, I was in tears.
I resist phoning her because it makes me miss her more.
I even resist writing about the experience of missing her here because it just makes me cry.
Sob. Gulp. See what you made me do?!
There are moments throughout the day where I forget about her, almost as if she doesn't exist, when life is "normal" again, quiet in my no-baby household space, busy in a working-adult kind of way.
Then there are the moments where I realize I've had such moments, and the guilt of them haunts the rest of my day. I think I hear her playing in the next room, and seconds later I wonder why she's so quiet.
I phoned her today. She's revelling in a new word: "Voilà." I'm heartbroken that for a couple days each week we don't even speak the same language.
She sounds so happy without me and I'm miserable without her.
As much as I fought the traditional role of stay-at-home mom, even denouncing and renouncing it, proclaiming myself a modern woman with a strong and completely individual identity, for the last 2 years, even before she was born, Helena well and truly defined me.
I'm feeling a little lost. Voilà.