Sunday, September 11, 2011

A different "10 month" milestone

Being the 11th, today marks ten months since I've held my little princess and seen her in person. It's also a horrible anniversary for the U.S. and especially for the families affected by the tragedies that struck ten years ago on this day. Not only have the past ten months flown by, but the past ten years have flown by, too. Ten years ago on this day, I was in the 8th grade, on the 3rd floor of my school, in Algebra class. I remember it like it was yesterday, so how could I fear that I will ever forget any little detail about my daughter? Her smell, watching her little chest breathing...up and down, up and down, her eyelashes, the suckling noises she made at night...I fear that I will forget it, but how could I? If I can remember the scribbles that were on top of the wooden desk and the twizzler I was eating when my teacher's cell phone rang to tell her about the plane crashing, how could I ever forget how soft my baby's skin was when she was a day old? I worry incessantly. It hit me hard today because my mom and dad asked me if I wanted to go out to breakfast. I said yes and then a few minutes later, asked where they wanted to go. She said the name of a place down the street and as soon as she said it this awful memory hit me like a ton of bricks. We went there towards the end of November...I can't remember when, exactly, but I think it was before Thanksgiving. It was within a week or two after I put my little girl in her new daddy's arms and walked away. I had been crying almost every day after that, but this day was an exception. I woke up in a good mood, and we went out to eat. For whatever reason, as soon as the waitress put my pancakes in front of me, I burst into tears. I felt sad because I missed her; I felt guilty because I felt like I didn't deserve to be eating "nice" food and enjoying myself when I had just "left" my baby with strangers. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I was sobbing in the middle of the restaurant over my pancakes and a cup of tea. It was embarrassing and just awful. So, fast forward to this morning - my mother mentions the place and I immediately said NO. This damn near brought the Spanish Inquisition to my house...she must have asked me seven times why I didn't want to go. Nothing worked - I said I didn't like the food, she said it's the same everywhere. I said it'd be busy, she said it'd be busy get the idea. I didn't want to tell her because I was afraid she'd say "So you'll never set foot in there again because of that one little thing?," and it's questions like that where insensitivity takes the front burner and her compassion takes the back. So I avoided the explanation at all costs. So, that, on top of me walking into my room and seeing that today was the 11th, made today a little rough. I hope after her birthday, the meaningful dates will get a little easier. Not less meaningful, just less overwhelming. So far, I have spent the first year counting the months. She's 2 months, 5 months, etc., but I don't see myself thinking, "today she's a year and three months..." maybe I will, maybe I won't, I'll have to see. But I just don't imagine I will.

Oh, I forgot last time I wrote - she says "dada" now. I am so proud of her and at the same time SO wish it was me she was saying it to (not dada, of course, but you know). On the other hand, though, the man she is calling 'dada' fits the idea of the father I wanted her to have so much more than the one she was born to, and for that, its hard to be anything but happy.

1 comment:

  1. And that's exactly what you need to do. Concentrate on the positive. Your daughter is blossoming, and that's what we want for our kids - that's why we place them with people we may not have had relationships with. Because they can help them blossom in ways that we feel we cannot at the time of our babies' births. Hang in there. It WILL get better - I promise. I used to count the months too, and now when someone asks me or I think about it, I have to do a mental count on my fingers.