Splitting myself in two

Neve and I preparing for a Halloween event this past weekend. She’s a cute little elephant, no?

It’s almost midnight on Halloween, 2012, and I just crept from Neve’s room, where she’d cried out moments ago. Though she was mostly still asleep as I stroked her hair, I heard the strange crinkle of foil as she shifted her body against the crib’s bars.

It took me a moment to figure out what I was hearing. But then I remembered Joe telling me that Neve had insisted on taking a granola bar – given to her by a neighbor during her inaugural, miniature trick or treat adventure – to bed. And as my eyes adjusted to the room’s dark, I started to see the baby monitor’s blue light reflecting off the foil package gripped in Neve’s fist.

Seeing that light sparked a new, small pang of sadness in me. I’d missed Neve’s first trick or treat outing – missed seeing her dressed up again in her little elephant costume – because I was accompanying Lily and her friend as they exuberantly worked the neighborhood.

It’s not that I didn’t enjoy my time with Lily. I had great fun with her. It’s just that now, with two children, I often feel that when I spend time with one daughter, I’m potentially missing out on some great moments with the other.