Happy Hour

I hand Beep over each morning to be cared for, very well and very sweetly, by someone other than me. 

I am too selfish to surrender her completely.  I keep the best part of her with me...  I keep her, in the center of my chest and just behind the middle of my skull.  There, her essence lingers while I type, and talk, and work; as I laugh, and have meetings and walk tightropes.  I am not alone inside my skin.  I have the most beautiful baby with me, as much a part of me as when my belly was swollen past my toes. 

I hear the whisper of a nap mid-morning, glimpse a sparkle of laughter in the afternoon, and the feel flutter of a crawl just before evening.  I'm glad I kept this part of her to myself.

Every day after my work is completed, I hurry to pick up Beep from daycare.  I can't wait to get that pretty baby in my arms, to feel her soft skin and kiss her sweet cheek. 

I daydream about her the whole way there, and I know I'll just die if I don't get there soon.  I park the car, I walk up the drive, I knock...  I can't wait.

I'm let in.  I see her, her fair skin and peach fuzz head.  It feels like ages since I last held her, and my arms start reaching.  At last, my baby!

She turns, and sees me.  She smiles.  And crawls away. 

As in, away from me.

Ouch.

Ok, that hurts my little mama heart... More than I'd like to admit.  It smarts. 

Don't you know how desperately I love you?  How I yearn for you all day?  You're my baby!  I grew you in my body.  I threw up for months when I was pregnant with you!  I labored for 23 hours to force you out of my body, and all I cared about was YOU!  You used to pee inside me for God's sake!  And you turn and crawl away from me?!?!? 

Ungrateful little urchin.

I love you so much.  I don't care if you like daycare so much you want to stay there.  You're my baby and you're coming with me.

I gather Beep up, and strap her into safety things, and lock her into our little car.  And all is right again.  We are happy to be alone together, cocooned in our separate seats. 

We're going to fight traffic for an hour, while I feed her Cheerios and we exchange pleasantries like "Ohohohohoh.....Mamamamama.....Dadadada!" 

This is happy hour.  

And I love you, my ungrateful, independent little Beep.