Working mothers are bound by curse to an eternal world of self pity and guilt. No one can save us when we decide to just go plop into that ocean of loathing; not even Mitch Buchannon.
Today, I had to leave for work after three full days(though most parts of it went in blowing two different noses and reading up about Mucokinetics) of staying at home with Meow.
Her eureka moment of today being Momma’s work day had apparently occured when she spotted me in a neatly pressed kurta instead of the smelly night dress.
When I reached out for my packed bag on the stairs, she was sitting beside it and gave me that look which should ideally have had me texting my manager a dramatic “I quit.” like Anna Kendrick in “Up In the Air” and taking the next flight to Bali with her in tow for a long and peaceful vacation. If only my life was not the equivalent of a fourier transform on a fractional differential equation!
She pleaded. “Mummy. No offi. Peeech.”
I insisted that I’ll have to go to office or that we will not be able to afford any more new dresses or those five blue baloons I promised. She replied in a squeaky voice with tears down her eyes, “Dress vena, baloon vena.” (I don’t want them.) “Peech mummy. No offi.”
What should I do ?
I sat down and asked her to stop crying and be brave, to which she hurriedly wiped tears off her cheeks like an underpaid maid mopping the floor. We sat for some more time.
Then, out of the blue, she told me, “Mummy go offi. Meow wait.” (Go to office I will wait till you come back.)
I can tell that she did not agree for the fear of not getting a new dress or the baloons; but some random action in her brain made her understand that she’ll have to let go of momma for now. She is two and a half and still has a long string of events in life waiting to test her mental fortitude; yet this will forever be my best memory of how naturally resilient the mind of a child her age can be.