>Not A Funny Post

>So today was a bad day with Zoey. You know, not third world bad but cranky-pants, fuss-butt, shots at the doctor, stinky poops, no naps bad. I came across this piece I wrote in a writing exercise at my writing group. We were given a stack of photos to look through and we had to pick one and then write about it. I am reminded how the worst day with Zoey is better than the best day without her. And yes, I am going to say the sappy mom thing: I am reminded how our life was full before but not complete. She completes us. (Thanks Tom Cruise for the line.) Here’s the piece:

I am looking for a picture of my own child. I think I will know her. Maybe the color of her hair will feel like home to me. Maybe her eyes will remind me of the deep cool of the ocean. Maybe her skin will have the tones of wet sand. I
search through the pictures, glossy papers sliding over and under one another.

She is not here. She is not here.

Sometimes I think she is in the air around me, above me, watching. She watches me brush my dog, gently smoothing the golden white hairs along his neck. She watches me fold laundry and boil pasta too long. She watches me settle into the crook of my husband’s arm before bed.

Sometimes I think we are already tied together, my daughter and I. Connected with invisible thread. Strong, glistening, silver thread that is gradually reeling her in, pulling her closer to me. Sometimes I think she looks at the thread between us, and I imagine she sighs. A tiny sigh of a patient person. And here where things are solid, where I can’t see her watching me, I sigh the sigh of an almost mother. This sigh is not patient. It is closer to keening.

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