The moon was low and elusive on my winding drive from central Connecticut to the northeast corner. Its half-buddha belly was the fattest I'd ever seen. I turned a bend near the gold dome of the capital building and the shadowed orb disappeared, only to emerge again next to the sillhouette of another insurance building.
I sat by myself in the car, except for a strange loneliness that was so thick it seemed to take on its own form. There were only indents in the place where The Boss's carseat had been secured a half hour earlier. Now her seat was latched into my parent's mini-van and she was tucked away sleepily in the room I'd called mine as a child.
When I left her for this overnight visit with my parents so I could finish painting our living room, which had been sitting in a semi-finished state for three weeks, The Boss conveyed for the first time a genuine attachment to her mama. I know because she said it--"mama!"--as the tears formed along her lids and her mouth made the slow, hysterical square that always came before the swell. She was wailing.
I stood in the doorway. For a long time I watched her watching me. In fifteen months, she had never noticed me leave.
"You just need to go," my father said from his seat in front of the big screen television, where his scratchy words floated over her screams. "You're making it harder on her."
So I pushed open the door and walked through. I got in the car and was almost five miles down the road before I noticed the gaping yellow moon.
8 comments:
Oh sweeeeetie. That must've been so hard. But you did the right thing by leaving quickly. I know because I watch SuperNanny.
The first time you look in your rear-view and panic because your baby isn't in the back...that's an eye-opening moment. You don't realize how much you rely on them being there.
Lauren - you were sooooo sweet and then you made me snort out loud when I read the part about the SuperNanny. I had a hard time collecting my comment thoughts there for a moment.
What a touching moment. You've written it so well. Excellent post.
Found your blog through the exchange.
I'd like to tell you that it gets easier as they get older but it doesn't. Even though they were older and hadn't lived with me full-time for close to two years when their Dad remarried & moved to Kentucky, I was totally lost without my daughters. My house never seemed more tomb-like, my life never seemed emptier. And even though my house is now a mess, my computer is not my own, and more times than not I have a house full of teenagers - I don't miss the silence much at all.
Just take heart that she was probably just fine and happy before you even noticed that moon.... I used to call five minutes after leaving from my cell phone and I'd here my daughter in the background playing as if it had never even effected her at all.
Oh man, i know that feeling only too well.
It does get easier, but only slightly. It still rips your heart out when they cry for you.
I see why this was nominated. Very identifiable, from one mom to another.
Wow! Having four "bosses" I have been through this more times than I can count - and you captured it perfectly. Bravo!
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