I take a whiff of my coffee. One sip to start the day. The to-do list starts rolling; feed the baby. Feed the dog. Put the dishes away. What’s for dinner? What time do I need to be at work? What time is it??? The nanny will be here soon. Get dressed. Thumb through emails. No emergencies. Time to get ready before the baby wakes up. I glance in the mirror and catch my tired eyes. “I am living my dream.” My heart skips a beat. The exhaustion is worth it.
Baby is up. We can come back to thinking later.
I crack open the door to my squealing baby. She’s positioned herself at the edge of her crib, feet dangling between the bars. Her gummy smile and bright eyes breathe life into this moment. “Good morning, my love!” She giggles and hides her face in her hands. This new “shyness” is adorable. I want to remember this moment forever. I pull up the shades, cut the noise machine, and grab my baby. 11 months of bliss. I smell her hair, I smell her breath. I take her in fully. I nurse the baby, like I have every day for the past 330+ days. What a privilege.
I get her dressed. I give her breakfast. My husband takes over until the nanny comes. I’m whisked out the door and onto the 405 North. One hour commute with myself.
All day, I feel pulled in each direction. My (adolescent) clients tug at my heart. The staff at the residential treatment facility where I work are so caring, kind and diligent…I want to protect them too. I want them to feel supported, cherished, valued. I go to endless meetings. Supervision. More meetings. Notes. Clinical consultation. An interaction with a teen client: “Life is long. Life is painful. Life is joyous; how will you choose to take a step towards recovery today?”
3:00PM, back in the car. Another hour commute with myself. My heart is full. My brain is racing. “Was that the right call? Did I say the right thing? How can I help this client?” I feel responsible and helpless, yet I know I am resourceful, skilled, and passionate. When I don’t know something, I say it. Chronic perfectionism. Will I ever stop second-guessing myself?
Back with my baby, my dog, my home. I’m still working. Juggling emails, texts and Slack messages with blocks, stacking cups and formula. “Does the baby feel abandoned? Does she know I love her? Am I a good wife?” I put my phone away and stare at my baby, drinking her in again.
Hello, I am drowning; in love, in awe, in fear. I am drowning in life and living my dream.
The brain poet 