Attachment

Thursday was spent in a constant haze of too much to do. I strapped Rowena to me, and just plowed through all the crap on my to-do list. We packed snacks, made lunches, prepared for my class, did math with the older beasties. She was attached to me physically but there was a gap. I didn't feel fully connected. At one level, I know that I can really be that attached 24/7. But these days are rough because I just never felt we had our little moments together. Nursing was rushed and spent with me busily typing and reading.

We dropped boy beastie off with his pal, and then zoomed over to my school. Rowena surprised us all by not screaming through the whole car trip. She started fussing a bit once we hit the last light before the parking lot. We rushed to get coffee for mama and chocolate milk for the girl beasties. We hurried from the cafe to my office, where I rushed nurse Rowena. I brought her to class, handed her off to her dad, taught a hell of a class (one of those rarefied beautiful moments where the class just gets it, and you did nothing but gently lead them there). After class, I got to nurse Rowena during my office hours but it was still a fast and furious pace.

One the way home, H offered to ride with her in the van because at this point she was super cranky. I drove the girl beasties home in H's car while he charioted Rowena. I should have enjoyed the relative peace (five years do not stop talking. Ever.). But instead I felt this pain, this tugging inside me. I yearned towards my baby. I had not renewed that sweet connection we have, and being apart from her, not close enough to hear her crying, to see in the rear view mirror her shock of black hair, hurt. I knew this tiny cut could not be healed until we laid together to nurture not just to eat.

And so we finally arrived home to lay down in our quiet room, just the two of us. I held her small round body against me as she nursed. We gazed at each other with nothing to buffer the moment. And I felt with each second, that invisible thread shine.