Yesterday, the boys were having a nap and I also could have used some sleep.
I looked at Emma and, for a second, thought about setting her in front of a cartoon (please, don’t judge).
Then I asked her : “Do you wanna go for a walk ? “.
That SMILE !
So off we went, walked to the Foire du Midi.
We did the most old school attractions ; bumped against the walls of the Mirror Maze, won a pink mermaid at Hook-a-Duck, she went to the carrousel while I was sipping her granita and she spotted the Atomium and the Courthouse from up the Big Wheel.
We chatted, laughed, she was smiling, I could feel how happy she was.
I was happy, too.
Sad because I “had to” bring her to the multisport camp this morning, because she “had to” stay at the child care afterwards, because Ruben will start the school within two weeks and I “have to” find a nanny.
During our vacation and yesterday again, I realized how much my children need me. How fast they are growing up, how fast the (working) days go by.
And I feel sad for missing so much of what happens to them, angry for being one of those women wanting to have it all, frustrated with our society unable to adequately support the mothers of my generation.
Sometimes I wish I could devote myself to being a Mom, always be there, prevent their needs and not take so many educational shortcuts. Be a beloved wife, let go the feminism, the managing position and the rooftop aperos.
But the ugly truth is that I am not willing to.
That I enjoy working, intellectual arguments, feeling important… and the caipirinha.
And usually I feel good about it all, you know. I am definitely not the constantly-feeling-guilty type of mom. Sometimes I am proud of how I “manage” it all.
But then again sometimes my daughter gives me the sweetest hug, thanking me for a beautiful day together, sometimes my son falls asleep into my arms whispering “Mommy…cuddle”, sometimes it is the end of the vacation and I miss them terribly all of a sudden.
And then I just wanna cry. Then I feel immensely happy and sad.