I am on a 2-hour flight from Adelaide to Sydney and missing her immensely. It has been 11 days away from home and exactly 18 days since I sent Isobel to live with her popo and ayeh.
I reflect back on the night my husband and I sat at our ‘adults-only balcony’ for The Talk. Due to the nature of our jobs (odd hours and constant travelling), my in-laws suggested that we leave their (only) grandchild and her nanny under the supervision of my mother in law – at least till Bel is able to walk and eat by herself. With her starting on solids soon, mum-in-law was worried about her ‘not being weaned properly’.
You see, I was assigned to a 3-week hosting stint in Australia – about the same time Isobel would have started her solids, so naturally I should be grateful that they have offered help at this critical stage, right? I mean, EVERYONE was telling me how lucky I was to have such accommodating in-laws!
Then why was I feeling like a miserable, ungrateful twat?
Hubby suggested we send Bel to her grandparents place a week before my departure to Australia. “So you can get used to not having her around you,” he prods gently.
When you are in a relationship, you learn to trust your other half’s advice – so with a heavy heart, I packed half of her things and said goodbye to her.
“You can come and see her anytime you are free and can take her home when you are not working, love,” he adds on as he gently releases her from my clasp.
But it was not an easy feat. The first night without her, was heart wrenching to say the least. The last time I cried this much was when my best friend was murdered. Suffice to say, I slept staining Bel’s pillow with my tears, with a very worried husband stroking my hair to sleep.
I thought it would be easier as days go by, but today marks the eighteenth day away from her – and the depression has only elevated. As I type this article, thousands of feet above sea level, I am embarrassingly crying.
Her picture is placed inside any book I lug around with me on my travels, and earlier, when I took it out for a quick glimpse, I realize that my sadness and ungratefulness is mirrored by my inner feeling of regret and confusion.
They call it the dilemma of a working mother. I felt I have failed her as a mother. And this pisses me off. They tell me to prioritize – but striking that right balance is difficult. And I hate not being able to master this.
I am living in fear and anxiety that she won’t remember me – or love me the way I want her to. I am worried she will get more attached to her nanny and wouldn’t want my affection, and this fear of rejection from my own daughter is causing this anger and disappointment with myself.
So what should I do?
Friends tell me to take her back. “At least you get to see her and sleep with her every night,” says mother-friends of mine. My in laws and husband feel she’s better off with them. My judgement is clouded. I am a first time mother. So every piece of advice hurled at me is forcefully digested, but due to the pressure of wanting to please and fit in, you listen to the ones who have a lineage right to my daughter. Even if the heart twitches with slight doubt.
Upon my travels here, I met a newly made grandfather who has done very well for himself and his sunny disposition is reflected on the upbringing of his good natured daughters. I unload to him my ‘ungrateful guilt’ as I longed for another perspective to parenting skills and his advice was simple.
“Daphne, when God made you a mother, he naturally bestowed you with maternal and parenting skills. Do what you heart tells you to do, and all will fall into place.”
So once I am done with my travel show, I will be having another talk with the hubby. If Bel’s porridge gets burnt, and if I am doing it ‘wrong’, I know at least I tried.
That’s what being a mother is all about anyway, right? 13 more days and counting.
