We climbed into the cab. I gave the driver the address and mindlessly pulled out my phone as he weaved back onto the road.
All the while we chatted. About the meeting, the agenda for the rest of the day, always things to talk about.
She kept talking as I scanned the mess of text messages littering my screen. So many, I didn’t know where to focus first. Single phrases jumped out at me.
Threw up. Call me. Headed home.
I looked up and noticed her staring at me. The air of an unanswered question lingered between us.
“I’m so sorry. My daughter threw up.”
“Oh no. That is more important.” She retreated into her own phone screen.
By the time I got in touch, M was walking in the door, Baby was asleep, and the nanny had dumped into the wash the full load of sheets, blankets, and clothes that had caught the mess.
There was nothing for me to do. Me, the mommy, always the first responder. I had missed it all.
This should have been just fine. Laundry and cleaning – these are not glamorous tasks. But usually, they are mine.
I made it through three and a half more hours of meetings while M cleaned and consoled. By the time I got home, it was over. She was playing and running. Still not 100% but back to her bubbly self.
In those hours, they formed a new bond. She cried for Daddy during our bedtime routine. And that is wonderful. All mommy all the time makes Daddy so sad. It warms my heart to hear her call for him. I love watching him thrive in her embrace.
But I’m telling you, sometimes the things I miss, they devastate me.