Monday, January 12, 2009


You're missing it all.
You're missing their first leap off the swing, the first time they write and spell their name on their own, the first time they use the bathroom without someone having to remind them.
Yesterday I taught your son how to throw a Frisbee. Me, someone who technically isn't a part of his world, but actually I am part of his world. For six hours a day and five days a week we are together. Your kid and me, and I'm showing him how to grow and watching him do it.
Where are you? For the most part you're at home, or out shopping, or at a yoga seminar. You're planning a ski trip with the family but you have to bring in an outsider to keep your children out of your hair. You're missing it all.
Your little girl calls me Mommy. I tell her constantly who I actually am, she won't listen to me. All day, every day, any time she sees me, her arms fly up to my waist and she smiles and says, "Hi Mommy." Where are you? Who else does she confuse with maternal obligation concerning her little self? I'm there to see her be a little monster, biting and kicking at her friends, most likely her way of showing her confusion. Not where is Mommy - who is Mommy.
You're missing it all.
Do you even notice it?
If you did, would you change?

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