You Know it's True

Ingrid is still sick. She feels like dirt, in fact she mentioned that she feels like a cow's butt smells. I did not make that up. But she did tell me this:

Me: How are you feeling?

Ingrid: Not good.

Me: Can I do anything?

Ingrid: My nose, my nose!

Me: Yeah honey, your nose is running.

Ingrid: It's running fast! I can't catch it.

Me: Ya know what, you are absolutely right.

Ingrid: I know, but that doesn't help me.

She is a smart cookie.

Homesick

It is a rainy, grey, blustery, yucky day. I don’t like it, not one little bit. I have a hard enough time making it through the winter but rain and gloom make it all the more difficult. I am feeling melancholy as it is. Sean is sleeping over at his friend’s house tonight, and although I am thrilled for him (let’s see if he makes it) I am sad because I will miss him. I always miss my kids, even when they are in the next room. I remember when I came home from the hospital with Ingrid and I was in pretty good pain for the first couple of days. She was a good baby and I loved her instantly. I could hear Adam and Sean in the living room, Sean was a little more than two. They were singing Bob the Builder songs and wearing bandanas on their heads, and dancing. I sat in bed nursing Ingrid and I cried and cried. I felt guilty and sad and mean and just horrible. I felt like I had injured my son by daring to produce another off-spring. How could I of all people bring anyone that would squarely compete with him for attention, food, and college funds into the world? What the hell was I thinking?

It was irrational, and it was scary and I was depressed. I think that the reason I was depressed after I delivered both of my children was due in large part to the very large ass and stomach I had acquired during my pregnancy. Jesus, could anyone have told me that the #3 with Sprite was an express train to a size 14? Anyway, it was awful. The best description I have ever heard to describe missing your child or children is “homesick.” We all know what that feels like. It is crippling and achy. It makes you weepy and tender, it brings you to your knees with wanting. That is how I feel when I miss my kids.

Watching these little steps that he is taking and those that Ingrid is taking make me proud and fearful. I am sure that I understood that motherhood would be filled with emotional car chases and that everyday would be a challenge and a triumph, but I don’t think that I ever could comprehend just how much of my home would live in them.

Ingrid is home sick today with me and with the germs that I so generously shared with her. She is in our bed right now and Adam is reading to her. She has bright pink cheeks and eyes that look like she just left a Frat House party, but she is so happy. She is in comfy clothes and she has her Dad, and his attention, his voice and his love. I am in here writing and working and trying to tie up my day. I can hear them, only faintly, and I am again over come by the guilt of being bedridden with my work load, sequestered with my projects. Work deadlines, like babies require your complete attention. I miss her, and if feels like the day that I was missing Sean and listening to him sing Bob the Builder songs with his Dad. I guess that I will always miss my kids if I want to raise them to be their own people. I will always miss my kids if I want them to be self sufficient and secure. I will miss my kids because I don’t want them to live in my basement and make their friends on-line.