I Want Daddy
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A Mother's Journey Home...
It had been exactly twelve days since I'd last seen my daughter, except for the fleeting eighteen hours I managed to spend at home between trips, most of which were lost to sleep—eight precious hours where my body finally caught a break. Even so, I cherished every moment, even the exhaustion that came with juggling work and longing for my little one. But as the days stretched on, they began to drag, and both my daughter and I found ourselves counting down the hours until we'd reunite.
Finally, the day arrived. I boarded the plane with a mix of emotions—relief, excitement, and the lingering fatigue of travel. The sound of the engines revving up filled the air, and I tried to let it lull me into a nap, but my mind raced with thoughts of home. Minutes passed like hours, and every time I glanced at my iPod to check the time, I felt a pang of impatience. Then, just as I noticed the plane beginning its descent, a wave of relief washed over me. "Almost there," I whispered, tapping my foot in anticipation. When the wheels finally touched the runway, I exhaled deeply, knowing I was almost home.
Deplaning and collecting my luggage went smoothly, and I was grateful for the efficiency. As I stepped out into the arrivals area, I spotted him—a ruggedly handsome man standing there with a grin that could light up the darkest room. His soft lips pressed gently against mine, and he murmured, "Welcome home, lover." My knees nearly buckled under the weight of his words. He had that effect on me. He opened the car door, and I climbed into the cozy warmth of his freshly cleaned SUV. It smelled faintly of lavender from the air freshener, a stark contrast to the crisp autumn air outside.
By the time we reached home, I was shivering from the chill, but the drive had been sweet and comforting. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling of incompleteness. My little girl was asleep, and I tiptoed into her room for a late-night kiss on her chubby cheek. She stirred slightly but didn't wake, her tiny hands clutching her favorite stuffed animal. I lingered for a moment, memorizing the sight of her peaceful face before heading back to bed.
The next morning, while my husband headed to the office, my daughter and I spent our time snuggled up together, watching her favorite cartoons and playing hide-and-seek. Her laughter filled the house, and I soaked it all in, savoring every giggle and squeal. By the time we decided to head downstairs for breakfast, we were both ravenous. We made our way down the creaky wooden steps, her hand firmly grasping mine.
That's when it happened. As I took the first step, then the second, I suddenly found myself sprawled awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, my daughter still clinging to me—and crying. So was I. The pain in my back radiated outward, and her fear was palpable. Through her tears, I heard her muffled voice saying, "I want daddy..." All I could manage was a weak nod. "Me too," I whispered.
Thankfully, a quick call to her daddy brought him rushing home. With his calming presence, things quickly returned to normal. Aside from the bruise on my rear and a bruised ego, we were both fine. Now, as I carefully descend the stairs with my baby girl, I hear her sweet voice remind me, "Mommy, hold the rail."
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