At the end of last night—our last night in the house together, I kept feeling an overwhelming urge to ask my child did I do alright by you? Am I a good mother?
I got 3.5 hours of sleep last night. My heart kept pinching, physically and figuratively.
I discovered that my husband moved to the couch in the middle of the night when I heard the couch snore on my way to the bathroom in the dark.
My child was sleeping beside me when my alarm sounded this morning at 5am, one hand behind her head in a way that reminded me of how she used to sleep as a brand-new baby.
I’m writing this post on my iPhone in the back seat of the SUV. Daughter’s potted plant—her very own living being to tend to, is safely nestled by my feet.
I’ve found no manual for walking through this kind of parenting and family moment. (You can be damned sure I’ve been looking.) I did find butter pecan ice cream in the freezer, and last night I ate a scoop with a sprinkle of dark chocolate chips for my supper. My husband walked in and chose the same thing.
Last night, my eyes teared up as I folded my clothes in my room, including the worn t-shirt my daughter and I both love to wear (and which she often “steals” from my drawer). Sometimes I’ll catch her in the act of sneaking that t-shirt from the drawer and I’ll fake-yell, “DON’T TAKE THAT” and chase her around the room. Thinking about it made me sad, and when I went into the kitchen I decided to allow my child to see my watery eyes and sadness for a moment. She looked startled. I could tell my sadness was making her sad, and I reined my feelings in quick. We had a hug and then a little laugh, not before I told her, “I’ve got so many new mom friendships forming—it’s surprising and so beautiful. But I’m so gonna miss my bestie. Who’s gonna give me fashion advice?!” As we hugged, I felt love and guilt, too. I’d so wanted her to feel completely free in this transition, untethered by any need to care for me or my feelings. I wanted her to feel free.
My daughter just peered around the front seat, smiling, and said: “Imagine the trunk opens and all my shit flies out.”
Butterfly wings keep bringing me hope, love and support. Every once in awhile my phone pings with a note from an empty-nested or soon-to-be-empty-nester mom-friend. I’m touched by their generosity and a bit in awe of their ability to put their emotions into words. It’s beautiful.
Lately I feel relaxed about love. Like if I just show up, it flows to me.
If I am honest, I will say that I’m eager to feel the contours of our small house with less stuff, less mess in it. As things got packed, I felt a lightness reveal itself like sun behind cloud cover. Did I feel a pinge of guilt? I did not. Life’s complex.
At the Mixx Mart a few minutes ago, daughter placed a tall, cold Monster drink on the cashier counter. “You sure you want to drink that?” I said to her. “You sure you want to drink that?” she fired back, pointing to the tall, expensive, ridiculous Starbucks bottled Frappuccino I’ve started occasionally drinking these days. I gave her my best ‘mom look’ and shook my head. Ten minutes later, she turned around to look at me in the back seat of the car. “That was a good comeback, wasn’t it Mom?” “Yes it was,” I replied.
We’re climbing the mountain pass to Tahoe as I write this. Daughter’s skis are beside me in the backseat. I’m pretty sure that if she and my husband never picked up the sport together a few winters ago, we wouldn’t be here, heading to Utah for college. Ripple effect: tiny choice, big change.
The vehicle’s stopped suddenly here— and I never got to write all my twenty true things. (I did get pretty far.)
It seems someone left our car keys on the roof of our car as we drove away.