She goes to school tomorrow. I’ve been crying off and on all day. Thankfully, the weather is gray and sullen, just like my mood, justifying my desire or, rather, need, to cuddle under the covers on my bed. These are the moments that set me back months, if not years. They are the moments of new milestones. She’s about to begin something new and wondrous.

And I’m once again left behind.

In a day or two, I will have something profound to say about the process of being a first parent and watching, from afar, as your child steps into the classroom. But today, and most definitely tomorrow, I need to allow myself to feel. I need to be selfish with my emotions. I need to cry a bit. Eat some ice cream. And write a bit. And moan and complain. In these moments, I am fully aware that I am making open adoption out to be fully about me. I am aware of my selfishness. I am fully aware that if I kept up an act like this, I would only be doing wrong by my daughter. But I need some me-time. I need to wallow a bit. I’ll be back on task in a few days with the true reasons of open adoption tucked firmly under my cap. But now?

I won’t be there as my daughter wakes up on the first morning of her schooling career. I won’t wake her up. I won’t see her eyelids flutter, her smile broaden as her Mommy, not me, reminds her why today is a very special day. I won’t make her a healthy breakfast or argue with her that, yes, she will eat that healthy breakfast. I won’t help her get dressed in an outfit that I’ve planned to show off her cuteness. I won’t get to fix those luxurious curls. I won’t help her put on her backpack. I won’t take a million pictures. I won’t smother her in kisses. I won’t drive her down the street, hold her hand after we get out of the car and walk her to her classroom. I won’t calm any fears if she has them or delight if she delights. I won’t trudge myself back to the car and feel a sudden longing for a girl who has been by my side for three and half years without ceasing.

Because I know that longing all too well. It’s been my life for three and a half years. Because she’s not here.

Instead, I’ll dread opening my own eyes tomorrow. The Husband is already on the alert that I should be of little to no use for awhile; he’ll be handling BigBrother-care in the morning. I’ll look at the clock, knowing what time D plans on waking up the Munchkin, and compare our schedules. I won’t get to do any of that stuff. Instead, I know I need to go to the library and pick up a book I have on reserve. And I’m out of whole wheat pitas for my hummus wraps. I’ll throw myself into the mundane of tomorrow, not wanting to fully recognize my absence, yet again, in yet another milestone. By evening fall, I’ll have accepted it as part of a long and growing list of Things I Miss. I’ll remind myself that this is my “choice.” I’ll berate myself for useless tears. I’ll look forward to the stories of her first day, told second-hand by her Mom. And I’ll give myself a pat on the back for surviving another one.

I have plans to call this evening, to wish her luck before she goes to sleep. I cried as I messaged D to ask if a phone call would be okay. I’ve been assured that it is, of course, and even one in the morning. But do I want to interrupt in the morning? With pictures and busy work to get done? Do I feel like a burden for needing it more for myself than for her? I do.

These are the moments in open adoption that are hard. I feel useless. Worthless. And selfish for making any moment of this milestone out to be about myself. But there are some things that I can’t help. I’m human. I’ll be fine by the end of the week, I swear. But right now? I’m heartbroken.

When did she grow up? Where was I?