It’s hard to go to work and know that you’re doing something good when you have to leave your heart somewhere else first.
My summer’s over.
My time of only being a mom and wife is over. It was short-lived. It always is.
I took Joshua to daycare this morning for the first time this school year.
When we found his teacher he wrapped his little toddler limbs around me and held on with all the strength in his body.
I was who he wanted.
No one else.
He cried to stay with me. I cried to stay with him.
His crying was slowed with the promise of Thomas and the Runaway Kite. I cried myself to work with the picture of him holding Miss K’s hand and walking around the playground in my head. He was exploring his new-old world, just like toddlers do. And I wasn’t there to see it.
I will not be there to see it.
When I got to his school this afternoon, he’d just woken up from his nap. He saw me and shouted “Mama! MAMA!” and my heart leaped a little, almost like it was jumping back into its rightful place inside my chest.
Tonight I put him to bed instead of having Dan do it. He wiggled and squirmed and contorted himself on my body, trying to get comfortable. Eventually, he settled himself on my chest, head over my heart.
I held him a little tighter tonight. A little closer. I measured my breathing by his.
Last summer taught me that I was meant to be a mom–HIS mom–despite any thoughts to the contrary caused by postpartum depression.
This summer, despite its challenges, helped me realize where my heart is.
This child and me? We belong together.