Dear Maise: The Real World Hits Hard.

Dear Maise,

I just put you down for your nap about 10 minutes early and I’m hoping you’ll peacefully drift to sleep. You could tell something was wrong when I put you down.

Just a little bit ago, I was washing dishes and you were smiling and happy sitting in your bouncer in front of the open sliding glass door, watching Mandy go in and out and how the shadows changed on the patio as the sun hit the new leaves on that damn spiky ball tree in the neighbors yard. Today is the most beautiful day we’ve had since you were born. It’s like the universe knew I would need a little extra sun today.

I got you out of your bouncer and we danced around the kitchen for a few minutes, then I stood you up on the counter and you looked up at me and grinned a big gummy Maise grin reserved just for momma. And then I very suddenly burst into tears. The uncontrollable, ugly hiccuping, sobbing kind. I cuddled you close and smelled your hair and kissed your ears and hugged you some more through the river of tears and snot and spit I was unable to ebb.

It hit me all at once. It’s our last day like this. Our last day for me to get you up from your first nap, play and snuggle and enjoy your happiest time of day together while we sing and talk and play on the floor just the two of us. You were looking up at me and smiling and cooing and I got hit with the most overwhelming mom guilt I could even imagine. Days like this are all you know. You need me Maise. And I have to go.

When you wake up on Monday, I won’t be here. You’re gonna be home with your daddy-o and I hope you give him all the same love and snuggles and smiles and coos you give to me. I’ll be at work, intensely jealous and missing you more than I think either of us could predict.

All week I’ve been super positive about this – about enjoying our last week together, not wallowing in the fact that it’s our last uninterrupted, special days. But this morning a huge wave of wallowing hit me all at once and I didn’t want you to see it.

I’m being dramatic, I know. But my heart is shattering every time you look at me with those beautiful eyes and I know these are my last moments to soak up every second of your life. I have to leave a piece of my soul at home, long before I’m ready to. I’ve been so lucky to spend these last twelve weeks with you, beautiful girl. I have thousands of photos and tons of videos to keep me company at work, and I know your daddy will bring you to visit sometimes. I know there are a hundred good reasons for me to go back to work, and I know that it’s what’s best for you and for our family. It’s good for you to see that you have a strong momma, who takes pride in her job and likes using her brain in other ways. It’s good for you to spend this special time of your life with daddy; it’s good for daddy to spend this special time with you. There are a hundred good reasons for me to go back and it only takes one reason to make me not want to go.

I’m going to dry these tears now. When you wake up I’ll have my shit together and we’ll go walk in the sunshine and snuggle on the floor and I’ll give you some extra mommy kisses. I’ll give you a great big hug and a hundred belly raspberries while I change your diaper. I won’t cringe when you pull my hair while you nurse. I won’t wish for a little break, I won’t take eyes off you for a single second. I won’t let on that while we’re enjoying an extra special day together, my heart is growing and also breaking every second.

We can do this. I love you. I love you. I love you. You’re the sunshine and I love you so, so very much Maise.



PS. We spent your last nap under a tree at the park. It was wonderful. ❤️


One thought on “Dear Maise: The Real World Hits Hard.

  1. Pingback: Life With Maise: Hard Stop. (Week 12) | It's Just Sara

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