I miss you.
Last Friday night you got on a plane with Daddy to the Grand Cayman Island via Atlanta with your brand new passport and three days later my heart is heavy. I mean really, the center of my chest is heavy.
Sure, I'm getting good things done. I'm working on the web design for something brand new which is cool, and tomorrow is my birthday and I have lots of fun and friends lined up.
But I miss you.
I was unloading the dishwasher of all things, selecting your small plastic spoons and metal forks, which you also call spoons, and putting them into the cup for your utensils and it hit me. For three days now nobody has called me Mommy or demanded strange things like yogurt or play-doh. Nobody has tried to wedge themselves in the space of the open fridge door because they were hungry and wanted what they wanted not what I was about to cook.
I have had to let the kitty cats in and out all by myself - you've taken over this job now that you can reach the handle of the back door. "Ava," I say, "will you let the kitty cat in?" And you do. This is really cool and always surprises me that you open the door and let the cat in.
Nobody has put their shoes or coat on the couch when I've asked them to put it in their room. Nobody has said "Mommy, want that!" "This?" I ask. "This!" you respond.
Nobody has said "Mommy bed!" when I say it's time for night-night.
Nobody has said "Blue jammas" when I ask which pajamas you want after your bath.
Nobody has said "yoga" and stolen one of my mats and wrapped themselves up in it.
Nobody has grabbed a paper sack from the stash on the side of the fridge and walked to the door saying "Bye Bye Mommy!" These days you reach up to the doorknob like you can actually open it as Daddy and I roll our eyes and laugh.
No naked baby dance, no requests for TV on, no dragging all the toys from your bedroom into the kitchen. Nobody else to bathe, to feed, to kick me in the middle of the night, to comfort, and to be comforted by. No declarations for "EIEIO" when I start singing "Twinkle twinkle little star." No spontaneous ABCs, no counting to twelve (which you did last week and shocked the pants off of me) with only nine blocks. Math, you'll learn that in school along with imaginary numbers.
Nobody to sing Happy Birthday when it's not my birthday and bring out the tower of legos declaring it's a birthday cake. I'm only hoping that Daddy helps you call me tomorrow.
My little one, you are a kazillion miles away in the Caribbean, likely going night-night by now and I wonder if you're asking for Mommy's bed?
I love you, with more love than my heart can hold, and so, I need the whole ocean.
Mommy
