Her legs hold tight around the woman’s small waist and she looks up at her with adoration. Her chicklet smile bursting hearts as she fills her chubby hands with fistfuls of hair.
The woman wraps her hand around the girls small fingers, playfully telling her no and tickling her dangling toes. They giggle together, whisper secrets, and are lost in a secret world.
Jealousy overwhelms me. I can taste its bitter bubbles on the back of my tongue as it boils in my throat.
Those giggles should be mine.
Those secrets should be whispered to me.
I should be apart of the secret world.
That is my daughter.
Each morning she happily goes to her daycare teacher with outstretched arms and a wide grin, waving goodbye for the day.
Learning her ABC’s, peek-a-boo, patty cake.
Things I should be teaching her.
I hate that she loves her daycare.
I love that she loves her daycare.
And as much as she adores her teacher she doesn’t hesitate to push her aside each evening when she sees me arrive at the entrance to pick her up.
Arms reaching, squeals of joy echoing across the playground, and recently the sound of “mom, mom, mom” swelling my heart.