Monday, September 13, 2010

My daughter broke my heart

Every day of the week that I was at Grammy's, I was the one to wake up with Jewel at 5 in the morning--or 4:30 on one day--and get her out of bed, fed and outside to swing, climb the ladder to the clubhouse and walk around until the rest of the house awakened.

When we returned home, I was still the one to get up with her for a few days because she would get up just a few minutes before I needed to get up to go to work. We would go out to the kitchen where I would make coffee for Mama and I, then some eggs and toast or waffles, which I would share with Jewel.

Yes, I really do get up that early every day for work. Now you know why I don't return your calls late at night. Or even early at night.

But one morning, Jewel slept in--if you can call sleeping past 5 a.m. sleeping in--and I snuck out of the room, which is no mean feat, since her crib is on my side of the bed, to make coffee and breakfast and start getting ready. A half-hour later, when Mama carried Jewel out, both squinting at the bright kitchen light, Mama explained that Jewel had sat up in her crib, looked around, pulled out her pacifier and said "Da da? Da da? Da da?"

And that's when my tiny, cold, dark heart broke.

So, if you're ever wondering how my day is going, remember that I started it with a broken heart because I broke my daughter's heart. That should give you some idea.


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