The Daily Chai Misses Her Kids

Today's Chai Latte was fabulous. I'm surprised you're not drinking your own while reading this. They really are the bomb.

So this is where I have the most trouble with my separation: the sharing of my kids. I know, I know, I just said yesterday that solo weekends are awesome. But then the work week sets in, I haven't seen my kids in three days and miss them so much. How is it possible that I've gone three days without seeing my girls? At the very beginning of my separation, I would be a basketcase on Mondays, and it was my bestie that pointed out I was always more emotional that first day back after a busy weekend of catching up with friends. Because while I was busy and distracted and occupied, my kids were not at the forefront of my mind, but reality set in on Monday morning. I would sit at the breakfast table, staring out the window with my Cheerios uneaten and getting soggy while I wondered how I got here and if I was really doing the right thing. That if I continued with this crazy, stubborn, selfish plan, I would miss seeing my kids every day of their lives.

The day after Kate was born, I looked at her and thought, "What the fuck have I done?" I looked at that tiny, scrunchy red creature and started to panic about how I now had a human being dependant on me for her every need. FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. Holy shit. That's a hell of an epiphany I can tell you that and I didn't really think I was up for the challenge. 24 hours later, I would have fought tigers for her had I been called on to do so. That protective instinct and my love for her grew every day until it consumed me. I found out that I was really, really good at being a mother. For a person who has always been just smart enough to know that she is mediocre at best, the realization that I was finally amazing at something was deeply satisfying. I held on to it tightly and I wasn't going to give it up.

So when you feel that way about motherhood, dealing with the fact that you are no longer there to protect them and love them every day can be a bit traumatic. And let's face it, I'm a proven drama queen so I imagine the worst-case scenario about how this is all going to play out and I worry about my girls and how this will affect them long term. My worry is not baseless since you always hear horror stories about kids going off the rails because their parents split. My own life went off the deep end a bit when my dad left me at the age of 15 and I never really forgave him for it. I do, however, recognize that this is a different situation. When my dad left, he was done with us. I saw him irregularly at best because he wanted to screw his new girlfriend and he didn't want a sulky teenager who hated his girlfriend at his house every other weekend. The idea of joint custody and both parents actively raising the children after a divorce just wasn't his thing. I was also old enough and angry enough that I didn't want to see him very often. So I speak from personal experience when I tell you I worry for my girls and how this separation will ultimately affect them.

Obviously my ex and I have figured out a way to continue to be in our kids' lives regularly. We both agreed that if we were going to split up, the only important thing to figure out was how to make the kids feel as nurtured, loved and protected as they have always been. Everything else took second fiddle to that. There are going to be some changes, we are moving after all, but we're trying to make it exciting for them instead of scary. We reassure them that even when we aren't together, we're only a phone call away. And drama queen or not, I'm also eternally optimistic about life in general and I look for the good in the bad, I seek out the positive from the negative and see the beauty even in ugly things. So I might worry, but I also hope and expect everything to be okay.

It doesn't mean I don't miss them like crazy when I'm not with them. I haven't missed a moment of their lives since they were born except for the occasional weekend away. But just like with those weekends away, I feel guilty about looking forward to alone time. Because I really do. I revel in it. I write, I read, I do my nails, I watch movies, I see my friends. And I do all of it guilt free because I don't have to worry that I'm doing these things at the expense of not fulfilling someone else's needs. It doesn't seem like a very motherly sentiment to have, but I've always been the primary parent and having down time to recharge has made me a more balanced, patient and caring parent in many ways. And as good pal pointed out, it's ok to look forward to handing my kids over to my ex because I also really look forward to getting them back. It balances out.

The Daily Chai Goes Back in Time

An excerpt from my pregnancy blog 2005-10-21  (17 weeks)

I feel like I've been neglecting my journal since I haven't written in over a week, but nothing much has been happening. I don't think what  I was feeling last week was the baby moving,  because I haven't felt more movement or stronger movements since then. Everyone keeps telling my pregnancy will be really real to me once I start feeling the baby move and that it feels so cool, so I'm getting impatient, waiting for this next step! In true drama queen fashion to which I'm sure you've all become accustomed, I almost started to cry on my way to work today because I started thinking about the birth and how much it's going to hurt and how hard it will be and how I'll never be able to do it. It's so stupid, I know, all women fear labour and almost all women make it through somehow. I know I should be preparing for the birth by educating myself, but I can't bring myself to think about it. I wish I could just go to sleep pregnant and wake up with a baby! Worse yet is when you voice your fears and everyone says, "Oh, it isn't that bad." Uh, yes it will be!!! My most favourite thing in the world to date is when they start ‘entertaining’ me with stories of their labours or their friends’ labours. I should probably say HORROR STORIES. Why do women do that? I mean, this is my first baby. I have no memories or anything personal to go on. I’ve led a fairly charmed life, the last time I broke a bone, I was 11 and it was a minor hair-line fracture of the wrist. But these WOMEN. Oh. My. God. Here’s an example of the scariest-assed thing I have ever heard. My friend, who shall remain nameless, but she knows who she is, said that her niece was in labour for 48 hours. Then she pushed for four hours and when the baby finally started to come the woman had to have an episiotomy to avoid tearing. The doctor made a cut three inches long from which said woman has never really recovered because they didn’t stitch her up right. 48 hour labour? Episiotomy? Stitching? What the fuckity fuck? Why do people even HAVE children? Oh, but they say it’s all worth it when you finally hold that newborn baby in your arms for the first time. Whatever. I’ll believe that when it happens. Oh and here’s another one: This one involves the umbilical cord being tied around the baby’s neck. Mother in extreme pain and baby in mortal danger. Good times, good times. AND THEN, when I say, “Well, I’m really worried about the pain and I’m having a epidural,” I get in TROUBLE because some people think epidurals are bad for the baby. Like, when did my body and my baby become anyone’s business? I’ll handle labour exactly the way I want to, thank you very much. I don’t roll my eyes when people proudly tell me their ridiculous birthing plans to relax with massage during labour pain. Again, I say, WHATEVER. You do it your way, I’m very happy with my way! I have a lot of weird dreams about the baby. Last night I had another dream, but it was more normal. I dreamt that we had a boy and we named him Connor. I woke up feeling that, of course, this was a prophetic dream and that it will come true. That it is fate. I'm starting to wonder if I always have these weird thoughts or if it's because I'm pregnant. I don't remember what it's like not be pregnant. I honestly cannot remember what I felt and what I thought about when I was not incubating a fetus. It’s like going to a party sober and getting so shitfaced drunk that later in the evening, if you can even form coherent thought, you wonder what it’s like to be sober and in fact, even when you think REALLY HARD, you can’t comprehend ever having been sober and you’re pretty sure that you started life drunk as billygoats and have experienced your entire life drunk. Being pregnant is basically the same. Yesterday I went to pick up lunch for everyone at work (my boss paid because it's his birthday) and I saw a teeny-tiny pink baby with her father. I said, "That looks like a very new baby!" and he said she had just been born on Monday! She looked so sweet and small and, unbelievably, I almost started to cry right then and there because I felt so overwhelmed with emotion at the thought of my baby being out and about picking up lunch one day.  My mom is right, pregnant women are crazy!