Daddy Is Magic!

Teething...

...is no fun.

She's usually much, MUCH happier than this.

On Being Her Mommy

Sophia is 8½ months old.

See this face! Is it not endearing???

How can this face, which makes me want to sing with sweetness at 4 in the afternoon, make me want to scream with frustration at 11 at night when she won’t go to sleep?

How can this little girl be one of the sources of my greatest joy and simultaneously of my greatest pain?

I remember the first day I went back to work after having Sophia and crying all the way to the clinic. I guess in my mind I thought (hoped?) that I would get used to the feeling. I naively supposed that it would get easier to leave her behind in the hands of her incredibly loving and capable father while I saved the world one autism diagnosis at a time.  

But, no, it gets harder. Unbearably,  excruciatingly harder. Sometimes when I walk past her crib on my way out the door, I pause and look at her sweet, sleeping face; and my heart aches so much at the thought of leaving, that for a few seconds I can’t breathe. And those are the good days. If she wakes up before I leave, I know I’m going to need to grab tissue on route to the car.

Then work ends. I drive home to my husband and daughter. I rush inside to kiss Mike, and Sophia reaches out for me like I’ve never left. Being with my family, my world rights itself again. I try to make the time I spend with them quality, since I can’t give quantity.  We play games and read stories. I rock her to sleep and hold her until she wakes up. I sing to her and teach her.

Last month, we worked on picking up pieces of cereal and putting them in her mouth. She got to where she could pick up the cereal, but she couldn’t quite get it to her mouth. Then, one evening, she did it! I was so proud and I excitedly pointed out to Mike what a wonderful, amazing, genius thing our daughter had learned. Mike had a funny look on his face and it occurred to me—that wasn’t the first time she’d fed herself.  Mike admitted that, in fact, she had done it just that morning.

For some reason, it broke my heart. I’m still not sure why I took it as hard as I did. It wasn’t like putting a piece of cereal in her mouth was a major milestone—not the way “first word” and “first step” are. But it was something that we had worked on together; and when she finally got it, I wasn’t there to celebrate her triumph, however small.

After a few minutes, I composed myself and put it all into perspective. If I didn’t leave in the morning, I would never get to see that she is beyond excited to see me when I get home. If I didn’t have to be at work during the day, I wouldn’t appreciate as much the time we get together evenings and weekends. Being a doctor has made me a better mother. And being a mother has made me a better doctor.

We’re blessed that Mike can stay home with her and she doesn’t have to go to daycare. At least one of us gets to be with her for all her “firsts.” And work is temporary. Only 4½ more years, and I’m done with Army life. Also a blessing.