Does it hurt me more than it hurts you?

Dear Zoe,

My heart is aching. I need to hold you, kiss your cheek, hear your voice tell me to "Wait. WAIT Mommy. WAIT till I run to Daddy." when I try to tickle you. I just sobbed my way through "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" because there was always some baby being born or some Mama being kissed or some beautiful and true and trite line about love lasting forever and it was more than I could take.

I am so sorry to have left you this long. I know you're too young to really understand the calendar we left for you with its boxes to check off and the day when we would come home starred at the end of the page. I know you don't understand why we can call you on the phone but can't "come home RIGHT NOW!". I know you'll probably never remember this in the long run (in even a week or two?).

I know that you've cried yourself to sleep at least once.

(I'm so sorry for that.)

I also know that you haven't asked for us once today and got to have a cookie AND whipped cream for dessert tonight so maybe you aren't as desparate as we are for a reunion.

I know that we'll see you soon and hug and kiss you and in a few days, we'll be home in Pasadena and it'll all be back to normal with me sometimes looking forward to your naps and bedtime for a little time to myself again.

I know that this Mt. Vesuvius-sized zit smack dab between my eyebrows is from the stress of missing you (and the stress of realizing that we will soon enough be moving to this crazy part of Northern Virginia we're visiting, with its odd lack of history and character and organic, layered, natural development. I hope we can find a nice community here. One that isn't too sterile and devoid of edges and depth.)

We'll see you tomorrow, sweet girl. I'll do my best not to smother you with kisses and endless weepy hugs.


your Clueless But Hopeful Mama

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