The Momoir Project

I’ve finally learned to forgive myself for the first two years of my daughter’s life. They say kids don’t remember too much about their first few years. Hopefully, that’s true.

When I first brought my daughter home, I envisioned relaxing hours in bed, snuggling her warm body close to mine, wrapped in our cozy cocoon and feeling as though we were the only two people in the world. I imagined brushing her tiny wrinkled fingers against my cheek. I would count her little pink toes and give her kisses all day until there was nothing left to give. We would spend hours discovering one another–I discovering how much she looked like her father, and she slowly discovering that I was the one person who would always love her unconditionally and protect her. I imagined our days and weeks to be filled with mommy and baby yoga classes. We would spend many days at the park, where she would peacefully sleep while I relaxed with my latte and caught up on some casual reading.

But all that didn’t quite match up with my reality. The rigorous demands of running two small coffee shops and being a loving mother proved to be the most challenging task of my life. And I found it difficult to separate my new identity as a nurturing mom and my old identity as a businesswoman.
After a 42 hour labor filled with surprises and complications that led to a serious back injury, I brought my daughter home and within a few days, the blissful stage of new motherhood abruptly came to an end. I had barely mastered the difficult art of breastfeeding, or changing a poopy diaper when my cell phone alerted me to numerous messages from staff who were giving their notice. Before my daughter was born, I’d spent countless hours training new staff to ensure my absence wouldn’t be missed. Now, not even weeks later, each were giving me different reasons for why they were leaving.

I was 27 when I purchased my first business, by age 30, I had already ventured into my second one. I worked anywhere between 60 to 70 hours per week to ensure the daily operations ran smoothly. My partner, who entered into the business at year two, was my partner both in life and in business. We split the daily operations of the shops fifty-fifty, with more occasionally falling on my shoulders because I had more experience. It had always taken all our efforts to run the shops, except now we had a daughter who required a hundred percent of our attention as well.

My role in the businesses, besides working behind the counter 40 plus hours a week, included scheduling 18 employees, payroll, rotating and finding local artists every 8 weeks, endless office work which racked up to about 20-25 plus hours a week, hiring and training new employees, quality control, charity events, banking, cleaning and keeping up with almost daily orders with different suppliers.

About a week after my daughter was born, I spent a morning going through a stack of resumes and calling some of the best applicants. I was wearing my tattered white cotton housecoat with Sophia draped over my arm, her face slightly over my wrist, belly on my forearm–her favorite position. I sat down at my desk and wrapped my blue and yellow moon-shaped breastfeeding pillow around my bulging belly and attempted to hire some people over the phone. I placed my hand behind Sophia’s tiny head and pressed her up against my breast to feed. My first thought was how many phone calls I could get away with before she began to fuss. As I began to make some headway with the applicants, I began to feel uneasy both physically and emotionally. I realized, though not consciously that in that moment, that I’d been more concerned about the applicants on the phone than I had been with ensuring Sophia was being properly being fed. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was just the beginning of many moments of guilt and conflict.

At just a few dollars above minimum wage, my employees are not using this job as a means to a better future. Our staff is almost always transient, which means I have my hands full hiring and training every few months. So every few weeks, I found myself lugging Sophia down to the shops, strapping her into the Baby Bjorn for hours at a time while I attempted another round of training new employees.

Sometimes in the middle of my training sessions, my mind would wander and I would think about how I should be at home with my daughter rocking her in her baby swing. Or how I should be organizing all her new pictures to put into frames, and setting aside the ones I wanted for her scrapbook (which never got started).

Somewhere around six months, before Sophia was mobile, I decided to check up on some inventory at one of the shops. With her in one hand and my briefcase and over-packed diaper bag in the other, I walk into the café and set her down in her carseat on a table in the back. Before long, a huge lineup formed and the staff called me to the front for assistance. The lineup had no end in sight but Sophia’s nap did. As I began to take an order for a sandwich, I heard a piercing cry. I got this sick feeling in the pit of my gut and somehow thought if I talked louder nobody would notice her crying. I lifted my head to see at least another dozen people in line, torn about what to do. It would look totally unprofessional to bring Sophia to the front and soothe her in my arms while I worked the cash, but I also couldn’t just casually walk away from a lineup of paying customers. Thankfully, one of my staff came back from their break and relieved me from having to make such a decision. But the guilt I felt from knowing which decision I would’ve made left me feeling devastated, and I realized all my hopes and dreams of days at the parks and mommy and baby yoga were slipping further away. And even if a day like that did manage to happen, it was never truly relaxing for me. As much as I tried to focus on my daughter, the businesses were never too far from my thoughts.

My partner’s mother was the only help we had with our daughter. She worked full-time but did her best to come by on some weeknights and the odd Saturday or Sunday. It’s not uncommon for grandkids to get overly excited when they see their grandparents. The grandparents don’t have to do the reprimanding, or “mean things” like washing their hair or saying no to a treat. They just get to play and laugh and do fun things while they’re together. There were times when I would watch my daughter with her grandma and feel jealous about how much fun my daughter had with her. At times, I wouldn’t want her to babysit because I didn’t want them getting any closer.

My breaking point came shortly after Sophia turned one. I was on my way home from a long day at the shop, which always left me feeling overly anxious to see Sophia. Her grandma had been with her for at least ten hours that day. On the long drive home, I thought about how much I longed to hold her and tell her how much I missed her. When I pulled into the driveway, I was so excited to see her, I left everything in the car and raced to the door.

Usually, when I got home after a long day, she wouldn’t come running. I would tell myself, with hopes of truly believing it, that she just wasn’t an affectionate baby. Each time I opened the door, I hoped the response would be different. On this particular day, most events unraveled the same. As I walked through the door, I shouted, “Mommy’s home,” and looked over to see my daughter disinterested in my presence. Her frandma (knowing what it’s like to be a mother) picked Sophia up and attempted to bring her close to me. Sophia would take a quick look at me, and though I sensed her love, she looked hurt. She turned towards her grandma to be picked up. I thought to myself, “I want to hold you. I’ve missed you so much.” But I didn’t want the embarrassing risk of having her shun me, and remind me how the last year had truly altered our relationship. Her grandma would always appease me by saying things like, “Oh she’s just tired,” or “She just loves her grandma.”

It was time for grandma to leave, and I was counting the seconds so I could finally be alone with my daughter. As she threw on her coat and headed for the door, Sophia shouted, “Gran, Gran,” and ran towards the door as if the thought of being alone with me was something so terrible. I had to use all my strength to keep from bursting into tears. Once she left, I clasped my hands over my face and cried uncontrollably. It felt like an entire year of emotions was surging from my heart and bursting through my eyes. Even though Sophia was just a baby, she understood every time I put her needs second. She couldn’t communicate it yet, but her actions spoke plenty.

Things are better now. By the time she turned two, we had sold one of the shops. I’m still a working mom, and occasionally struggle with keeping a healthy balance. I’ve dedicated this last year to repairing our relationship. We’re finally doing the things I’d imagined we would do, just a little bit later than we both wanted. I’ve made a conscious effort to do office work once she goes to sleep, or park the truck and make my phone calls if she’s having a nap in the back. When it’s our time to do something together, I either turn my phone off or leave it a home. It hasn’t been easy. I’ve had to work hard at regaining her trust and making her feel like she always comes first, even when I’m busy.

The process of forgiveness is a long one. I still find myself having moments where I reflect on the first year of my daughter’s life and wish things had been different. I try to forgive myself for my imperfections and believe I did the best I could, with what I knew at the time.

These days when I walk through the door, my daughter willingly comes to see me. She sometimes hesitates, but always manages to squeeze in a quick, loving hug. Now, her eyes tell me how much she missed me and that no one could replace her mother’s love.