This was posted a long time ago on In The Rooms … as I sit here typing my children are finally going to be safe from having to visit a place that’s NOT good for them. I am overflowing with gratitude. Recovery has given this gift to me.  So in honor of having the effin courage to continue to do the best for my girls  I am posting this. I love you mini ninjas *smooch*

Oh to describe perfection … in a six year old body.

Mommy why do I have to leave? Why do I have to go away from you this weekend? Don’t they know I belong with you? It would have hurt me less to be knocked with a 2×4 by the boys at work. How do I do this? My heart is breaking in front of me in the form of my first born babygirl.

I say to this beauty … all the “right” things. Like “just because mommy and daddy aren’t married doesn’t mean we don’t love you baby girl” and “blah blah blah:” and “fucking blah”.

It’s bullshit. All of it. She knows this.

She’s smarter than me. Wittier. A charmer. Intellectual powerhouse with savvy and style. Senses the unfairness, innate knowing of innocence. This is my bella … the wondrous feminine that resides in my soul. Miracle and twinkle in my toes. Hazel eyes that melt ya like smores on a hot summer night. Spice for your sugar. Wriggly blonde goddess. Knows more than me … feels more too. She takes care of me. Of ME!!!

Back to reading favorite stories of rags and cinders. Of happily ever afters. It’s tainted. Fantasy. Fairy tales and misguided well meaning Grimm Brother mistruths. Sometimes prince charming squib kicks his true love in the gullet after throwin down one too many with the boys. Sometimes dreams of everlasting kisses are a flash in the pan .

She stops me again, brimming with tears. Unanswerable questions of unrequited love blaze in her eyes. Why is the unspoken. I attempt again . That “sometimes” mommys and daddys can’t live together and it’s not her fault. That it’s gonna be ok.

It’s not ok. Not by a Herculean discus toss. Tiny, warm hands cup my face. Eyes widening I look at the reason I exist. I say her daddy loves her, that it’s ok to love him back. That these are matters for the grown folks. She says , “That’s not the point mommy. I’m sposed to be with you. Mommy’s are always sposed to be there. My heart hurts.” Somebody shoot me.

My heart with hazelnut eyes pleads another slant …explains to me that she wants to be with her friends. She’s missing the Halloween elementary event of the year. Her dance card is full with the boyfriends from Dover Avenue School (and yes plural … she’s sassy and she knows this) My “B” is brave, she swallows hard. Rubs away the saltiness and tries to listen. I know she does this for my benefit. She’s braver than I.

I speak of how mommy’s love stays with babygirls forever .. And ever … And ever .. And ever.

I leak. Can’t help. One … two … three tears hit the pillow talk.

She has to know. God, little g or big, singular or plural, please help her believe. Tiny body heaving with tears, biting back the pain for the sake of a grown woman shows that she lives in the real. Have to make sure the she gets that she is my everything. Like the lunchtime love notes end .. “I love you more than the moon and the stars in the sky”. Hug, hard and long and sweet. Yes, she knows.

One last kiss on the blonde and the cheek. As I get up to leave …

Mommy?

Yes baby girl?

You know you’re my BFF right?

Always and forever angel.

Can you write me love notes for everyday I’m gone?

I’m all over it baby girl. You’re gonna be k. Mommy’s always with you.

I’m all about it mommy.

I know this baby.

Will you be all right without me mommy?

I will.

You can sleep with Hippy the Hippo if you need to mommy. Just to make you not lonely.

I’ll hug him tight with lots of kisses baby.

*blow kiss*

*catch*

*blow kiss*

*catch*