Made in Richmond

I’ve been referring to this past Wednesday as “The Day Of Much Woe.” Work was frustrating on many different levels, JR was determined to do anything but nap, the house was (and still is) a disaster, and, ugh, just a million other things that I just can’t muster up the energy to talk about.

More than anything, I felt like a totally shitty parent that day. During the rare moments that I wasn’t completely occupied with something else, in those precious, fleeting pockets of time where I could have been playing with JR on the floor or reading to him… I just couldn’t do it.

And then I felt horrible. Because that’s what I do.

And then I felt guilty. Because I do that, too.

With the guilt came thoughts of, “I don’t play with him enough. I don’t talk to him enough. He’s going to be behind developmentally because I’m such an effing introvert that it doesn’t even occur to me to talk sometimes. Sure he does wave “bye-bye” but not all the time. And he’ll point to Ross when you say ‘Where’s Dada?’ about 60% of the time. But he rarely points to me when someone asks, ‘Where’s Mama?’ He has no clue who we are. Oh God, Oh God.”

Later that evening, I expressed all of this to Ross through some hiccuping and ugly tears.

Ross sighed, went over to JR, picked him up, walked back over to me, and said, “Where’s Mama?”

Without missing a beat, that baby of mine smiled, turned to me, and shoved one gloriously chubby finger right in my face.

And then I thanked God for that baby and his sweet father. Because I don’t do that enough.