It has been 1 full week since I became officially unemployed. It’s hard to believe that seven straight days have already passed. As the flurry of emails, deadlines, and bouts of tantrum interruptions dies down, my days are starting to feel…calmer. Not exactly what I’m accustomed to. And as the dust settles, I’m finding myself more and more engulfed in introspection. Not quite drowning (yet), but just enough to permeate my thoughts throughout the day.

Babisodes and I walked Dadisodes to his bus stop this morning. Although we had to walk swiftly (because I am the worst morning person alive), we stopped at a corner bakery to grab a quick bite. Babisodes and I said our goodbyes through the storefront window and then sat down on a high stool to finish a cheese danish. As I sipped my hazelnut brew, I looked down at Babisodes nibbling on her icing laced heap of cholesterol. She looked back up at me and grinned. Through those glistening baby teeth covered in cheese and pastry crumbs, I couldn’t help but wonder how many times has she done this without me noticing?

Shamefully, in the past two years most of my meals with Babisodes were spent with my laptop on our kitchen table. Three weeks ago while my parents visited, I stumbled upon some old footage of Babisodes when she was about 11 months old. My mom recorded her close-up, crawling and playing on the ground near our dining table. A few moments passed of her exploring her soft toys within arms reach. Then suddenly my feet quickly crossed the frame as I walked right passed her, never pausing; never to reach down or say a word. Babisodes followed me with her eyes as I continued walking to a chair behind her. Then the lower half of my body became visible as I sat down at a table…in front of my laptop. Seeing this moment played back from a different view shook me violently within; like an addict watching surveillance of themselves in their habit of getting high, completely unaware. I looked over my shoulder to see if anyone else saw the footage. Embarrassed and ashamed I stopped the tape and ejected it immediately. I sat frozen. Stunned. Tears came barreling down my face.

How much have I missed?

What have I done?

How much of this is recorded within her own memory?

After our danish we left the bakery and continued on a walk to the library. Unsure if they were open, I gently tugged on their front door and found it unlocked. We were the first patrons at 9am. The silence of the building was interrupted with an occasional passing school bus, gently shaking the ground below while revving by. With my daughter’s hand wrapped around my index finger, we walked through the isles of bookshelves. The scent of worn, old books began to tickle my nose and drench the air around me. I checked out my first library book this year, and a few for her from the children’s section. It was then that I looked down at Babisodes and wondered if she’ll remember this distinct smell and the sense of her hand and mine bound tightly as she ages. Or will she remember the sounds of my fingers typing on a keyboard while falling asleep, or just the view of my feet passing her by?

I’ll be most proud if she remembers us smiling through cheese danish teeth.