Here's Another

Vivi 20 months

Lists. That has been my life for the last four months. A list of Vivi’s doctor’s appointments, dermatologist, ENT, pediatrician, after her surgery to remove her adenoids and tonsils it was a list of medications and times. A better list is all the things she is now doing and saying: watching Pixar movies of her choosing everyday, expanding her vocabulary to include words like “never mind”, “I don’t know” and “Vamanos”. Lists of all the homework I have to do, lists of work events and night meetings that add more than 40 hours a week to my work schedule. Lists that include dates with my hubby that we will actually go out to dinner and a movie and instead we end up eating in bed and watching a movie on cable which I actually enjoy quite more. Lists filled with times and subjects and items and dates and when one is crossed out another is added. Lists. The unwritten list of smiles and laughter and warmth when I do get to spend time with my family. Unwritten list of crying spells and doubt when I am not, intertwined with the other invisible list of wonderment and passion and awe and growth in my writing and myself. I crossed off my list my worry that my girl wouldn’t remember her mama because she does. She asks daddy “Mama?” when I am not there and lifts up her small palms and shrugs her shoulders. Broken heart. When I see her she snuggles with me now, and pets me like she does Olivia and she knows. She may not have the vocabulary to tell me or even the understanding to realize it, but she knows mama is doing what she is doing for herself and for her and for Cesar and even Olivia. The list of guilt is still there on a post-it note, but in the corner where it flaps with deep breaths and sighs and yawns, but it isn’t dead center anymore. On that list are doubt and some sad clouds that like to hang over me now and again, but that list, is at the bottom of my lists of lists. At the top of every list is my family. Bring on the lists. I am a writer. I have plenty of paper and ink.

Vivi Dancing to the Black Eyed Peas

Guilty as Charged

From the moment I saw those two pink lines this time two years ago, to the moment when I gave birth and all the moments in between, I have felt love, bliss, awe and that one small emotion that started out as a seed and has grown into a field of unkempt guilt. Mother guilt, parent guilt, however you politically want to say it - I have it. Guilt. Yesterday was rather hard. I received some mail regarding my graduate school orientation. I felt excited and then by the time I was on the blue line on my way to work, as the train was stuck on the tracks midway between Damen and California, I began to tear up. I was excited because school was fast approaching, but so are the months where 3-4 days a week, I will only see Vivi for 90 mins in the morning. Not counting work events and hours I need to spend on homework, Vivi won't be seeing much of her mama and that makes me quite sad. She is the reason why I decided to take a risk, make my dream of being a writer an actual goal and this very goal is what is taking me away from the being that motivated me in the first place. I told Cesar that I am going to put a picture of myself on the fridge, so she won't forget me. He said, "How is she going to forget you?" and I said I was going to do it anyway. Cesar understands why I am doing this. He is my other motivating force. He supports me and loves me and we have been through this before. He used to work nights and Saturdays, I used to work days, so we only saw each other on Sundays for about 2 years. I missed him terribly, but we both understood that is what we needed to do at the time. He understands that, but how do I explain that to our 15-month old? He tells me not to worry, that she is young and better now than later, that she loves me. He also knows he is married to a true emotional Pisces who's so sensitive that I cry at corny, sentimental commercials and when I hear sad stories about people I don't even know. So, there I was on the train, not bawling, but tears hopping off the rims, hoping no one in car 2246 noticed the woman with the wild frizzy hair and quivering bottom lip, wipe running mascara away from her eyes.
I love my girl. I won't ever stop feeling guilty for not being there for her. Her grandmas and Cesar will see or hear many of her firsts and I won't. She will be closer to them than the lady on the fridge. Sure, this is sounding super ultra dramatic, but my heart aches for the time I won't be there. I can't fail. I won't fail. I will give my all to being a mom, to being a wife, to being a writer, so at least I have no regrets. I never want to look back and say, "I should have tried harder." So, I give myself my own kick in the ass. Yes, I will allow myself my down moments. I will allow myself some tears, but I am putting a time limit on it. The more time I spend on feeling guilty and sad, the less time I have to put towards the positive people and blessings in my life. The guilt will never fade, but for the next three years, I am locking it up the best that I can.

What Time Is It?

It’s been months since I have written about Vivi. I keep saying I will make time, I will find time and yet time seems to be playing “It” with me and the harder I try to catch it, the more I run to take hold of it, the quicker it gets away from me. Time is everything and yet no where. The second hand on a clock can only be heard if you stop and listen. There in a silo of silence, as the world keeps moving, if you stop and listen you can hear the seconds tick by, one by one, one right after another. Do you hear it? That is your life – moving. Most of the time, I don’t hear it because I try to make it conform to me. To my work schedule, to doctor’s appointments, family gatherings, birthday parties, running errands and I don’t hear it, until I carry Vivi in my arms as she snuggles into her favorite blanket, her daddy and I saying we love her, good night, kiss her forehead and lie her down. There in her crib, her face illuminated by the moonlight sneaking through the blinds, I hear it. Time. Time circling, reminding me to stop. I don’t remember when Vivi didn’t have teeth and now she has six. I don’t remember when she couldn’t walk, because now she runs and climbs everything. I don’t remember when she couldn’t talk because now she says hi, agua, plane, doggy and 20 other words. I don’t remember when her hair wasn’t long enough to put into pigtails, when she couldn’t chase Olivia around the house and pull her tail, when she didn’t say mama and cling on to me tightly as we dance on Saturday afternoons. I need to stop and enjoy every minute with her even the ones that result in timeouts. She is all the seconds and minutes and hours, my calendar, my life and my world. She is time in its ultimate form. I can’t let her pass me by either.