Watch where I am. As soon as we reach school, and I place her in someone else's arms, the precious moment pops like a soap bubble. I feel enormous relief. I can get on with my day without her repeated interruptions. After relief there's something approaching shame.
Every day is a series of secret pulls and tugs.
If you asked me, I'd say I don't think of her that much while I work. But I can be anywhere and hear the cry of a strange child and become convinced my daughter is hurt and telegraphing a plea for help. My ambivalence is a song I can't get out of my head. It plays in the daylight. I hear it at night.