Going to Haiti/Leaving Nori

I am on the plane to Haiti, leaving Nori for four days.
The past few weeks have been as sweet as honey. Just being with her has been pure joy. Nori has been moving out of her "mommyitis" into a more peaceful and confident state. It is beautiful to see her brain grow to process the world, ideas of "permanence" (mommy is still there when she leaves the room) and to see her emotions even out as she learns these new things. But behind her emotions, her brain, is her spirit. And the older she grows the more I see her spirit clearly. It has been the most consistent part of her as her body and behavior grow. And boy is she a "spirited spirit!" She is intense, perceptive, sensitive, particular and so so so much fun. I absolutely love her love of life. This sweet season combined with impending anxiety about leaving for the Haiti trip has allowed me to truly cherish time with her.
At least once a day she will do or say something that completely melts my heart and there are literally bubbles of joy that fill my chest. I feel it may burst. Yesterday she wanted to push her stuffed animal in her toy stroller. When we got to the cracked sidewalk she picks the whole thing up and then sets it down, patting the animal on the head.
Is there any love like this? In some ways she is still at the stage of feeling like my baby. In a physical sense, her body is still an extension of mine. When she crawls into my arms, her legs wrapped around, I can still feel that she is flesh of my flesh. The other day, I was remembering her inside of me. Looking back with a fondness that I didn't know then, because I did not know her yet. Almost how you would look back spending time with a spouse before you even dated. The intimacy we know now brings an exciting newness to those memories. To remember her feet kicking me brings a smile. Her smells, her sounds, her skin, even her poop, are all so known to me now, as though she is me. We know each other in many ways more intimately than lovers. And we are reflections of each other in not only genetics, but in adapting our habits to become like one another. Again, the Pete and I have become like each other in some ways over the years. And him like Nori and Nori like him. So much of this happens under the surface that there is no telling sometime what came from who and we are in the purest sense- family.
And yet there is this space between us that is both magical and frightening. Leaving the house this morning reminded me of the illusion of control I have. She is not me. She is not mine. To walk away for four days at times feels "not right" because of our intimate daily rhythms. Yet it is this space that makes me humbly remember she is her own. She is cared for not ultimately by me, but by God and the village that is her friends and family. And it is this space that love loves too, not only closeness. In this space we are each our own unique spark created differently.
I wanted to talk to her about leaving, so last night I told her Mama was going on a trip. "Mama, trip, Mama, trip. . ." she said for the next 30 minutes. I held up four fingers and lowered them as I counted. Four days and then I will be back. "Mama, back, mama, back." Daddy will be with you. And you know who else? "Shirley." That's right and who else? "Saty (the other toddler Shirley watches with her) , babyyyyyy, bella." That's right and who else? "Daddy?" We put a picture of us in her crib. She cried going to sleep more than usual. Mama cried a little too. It felt like an authentic attempt for both of us to be honest in leaving. I had peace.
I have barely left Philly and I am already overwhelmingly grateful for this trip. I have cherished each moment I have with her over the last few weeks and that presentness is something I long for so much in life. Not only with her. Maybe it was this presentness that eased her separation anxiety?
I pray for presentness in the four days in Haiti. I don't want to miss any of what I am to experience there. And in this break from mothering, from the vertical transmission of care, to receive and know myself as other than a mother.
Last night Nori, Bella and I went to the park and ran errands. What is usually a "getting through" few hours before bed, was instead a magical time that I didn't want to end. Maybe it was the perfect fall weather, the brilliant trees, Nori's new attempt to sing in the car, blowing each other kisses and holding hands. Or maybe it was the gift of not wanting time to go forward or backwards, but to simply be. I have felt this before, when I fell in love with my husband. And now again: love.