Earlier this week at Gymboree (we went back), we played a little peekaboo. While Alice smiled, I think it was at my singsong voice. Or maybe the feeling of the blanket on her face. She didn’t squeal like the older babies delighted to see their mamas hiding, then reappearing. Alice isn’t there yet, there isn’t any “hiding” from her.
I guess it depends whom you read, but her world is still so small – her world is what she can see and what she can touch and hear. (And “out of sight, out of mind”).
It means she won’t cry when I drop her off – already! so soon! – at day care next week. That’s a good thing, of course. But how will she know I’ll be back, and not just that, but also that I miss her?
I love what I do, definitely. And I remember thinking, before I had her, that it was important to me that she grow up seeing her parents doing work they care about, that they are committed to. That’s still true.
But she is such delightful company.
It’s just about cherry season here, and I was remembering a family of cherry workers I met a couple of years ago, and the mother, Olga. She and her husband come every year from Mexico, and they brought their youngest child with them – he was 11 or so. And sort of bored. Not old enough to work. No one his age.
Last year, I went to say hello to them, and Olga said she had sent her son to live with his older sister in Utah. So far. He was going to school there. She missed him.
I don’t mention it with any kind of “could be worse” sentiment – I think that tends to trivialize both experiences. Just something I was thinking about when I was thinking about how hard I am going to have to trust that when I can’t see her, she is safe and happy. And that when I reappear in her world every day, she will smile.