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The big kid

Yesterday was the kid's first day at her new school.

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How is it that this doesn't get easier -- letting them go each year, shuffling them back into the frothing stew of humanity, where you can't protect them? I thought it would get easier. It doesn't.

It's been particularly anxiety-inducing this year, with the kid heading into a new school. I was talking to the boyfriend the other night about my fears, qualifying each hysterical, over-protective statement with, "I know it's probably just because I'm her mom..." or "I guess every mother feels like this...", which is all well and good and may in fact be the truth of the matter, but this is MY BABY we're talking about here. I'm allowed a little unwarranted hysteria, am I right? 

So I rambled on about how sensitive she is, how it worries me because I see so much of myself in her in that way. She feels things deeply and takes things to heart, perhaps too much. And so at moments like these I have to struggle hard to separate out my experience of school -- which was painful and exhausting and lonely (my family moved, like clockwork, about every 3 years on average... I was perpetually The New Kid, always on the outside) -- with hers, which can, should, and thus far has been, very different. This maternal projection, the worrying, the overprotectiveness -- it's residue from my own childhood, not the reality of hers. I know that, deep down. I do. And yet...

The boyfriend listened to my babbling quietly and then smiled. "She's a strong kid, a tough kid. You have nothing to worry about. Really."

And something in me that was clenched relaxed, just a little.

As a mother, it's difficult to see your own kid for who they really are, wholly separate from you and your influence, your projections, your fears and hopes. But he's right: my daughter is strong. And sensitive. And many other things, some of which resemble me and my character, and some her father's, and some are just her. Her alone, and nothing like anyone else. 

And with each year she becomes more and more her own person, more singular in every way. This is a good thing, a wonderful thing. Of course it is. It is how it should be, and must be. Her growing independence and individuation means that I'm doing my job as a mother.

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So why does my heart still ache like this?





She, now

She loves being tickled. Until she hates it, ten seconds later.

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Gestating

I'm just going to come out and say it, straight up. I'm going to write a book.

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My office

The boyfriend and I spent the lion's share of the last four or five days converting the seven-year-old's defunct playroom into an office for me -- something I've desperately needed for about the past, oh, five years. Among other things, sitting slumped on the couch, hunched over a laptop for fully half a decade has not done good things for my posture, and it's been more than a little difficult (understatement, ahoy!) to maintain any kind of work/life balance, what with my work space and living space being, uhh, exactly the same space. But no more.

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Goodbye

I've been trying to write this post for over two weeks, and each and every time I sit down to write it, I can't find the words. Maybe there aren't any words adequate to express my feelings. I'm at a loss.

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The ache

I've been out of town, on and off, for most of the past two weeks. The kid's been with her Father during the time I've been gone, traveling elsewhere together. As of this morning, it's been nearly a full week since I've seen my daughter.

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In a tight dress, I think I might just...

The soundtrack, it is endless.

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In which I actually ask for actual advice. Actually.

Hey kids! I'm back from NYC and BlogHerdom, and though of course there's plenty from that experience to share, I'm going to make a bit of a departure today and pick your brains instead (in a completely non-zombie-like fashion, have no fear). Think of this post as a wee oasis in a dune-y sea BlogHer 10 recaps. Or something. Ready? Okay!

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Why I'm a terrible mother

The trolls of the interwebs have, on more than one occasion over the lifetime of this blog, relished painting me -- in the most absurd tones imaginable -- as a bad mother.

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Mourning

My heart is still too sore to say much about this yet beyond that with her passing I've lost a cherished and irreplaceable friend, a beloved member of my family.

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Fortune

On our second day in New Orleans, we went to a fortune teller.

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Calling the bluffs, talking so tough

Rotten device, I'll say it twice I'm too much I'm too much comforted here

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Gratitude

This morning I woke up to an unexpected flurry of congratulations on both email and twitter. That's a pretty good way to start your day, right? I KNOW.

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Home is where the meow is

Yesterday afternoon, I spoke with Zelda's vet on the phone about how she was doing. It's a mixed bag, I'm afraid.

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Last night

First let me preface this post by saying: I'm kind of a basket case today, so please cut me some slack here for any incoherence or disjointedness.

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Year One

We parted. I floundered. I mourned.

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