Just me & you (G!P)

C. 36

Hi! I'm sorry for the long wait.
As always thank you all for reading, commenting and voting.

Here we go!

Since Maya has returned to my life, I am struggling to keep the rhythm organized and precise of my daily life as it was before. Since I returned to work, with Viviana still a baby, I have always respected the schedules in an almost obsessive way, leaving no room for anything else: kid, work, home, bath, pajamas, Sunday activities everything had a precise time and a precise space to be respected. I've been messing around since Maya had the accident, but as long as, in the early days, my role was limited to accompanying her here or there I had simply readjusted the daily routine with new schedules, fitting everything perfectly.

It's since Maya demands more, but I also want more from our relationship, that I'm really struggling. I believe that at some point the obsessive order of things became a defense mechanism, which I cannot get rid of now. The idea of being able to rely on Maya and let myself go in an all-encompassing way with her still scares me. I am caught between the desire to do it and the habit, or fear, of getting by myself for everything. In recent days I have felt so strongly my balance faltering and it has made me so afraid, that I had to recur to the therapist of the hospital, which in theory is made available for patients, but many times she found at her door doctors and nurses. Already in the past, I went to psychotherapy, when Viviana was just one year old and, again, I was torn on how to make ends meet and what name to give to my fears. After a short journey I simply found my balance, I learned to ask my brother or friends for a little more help, but, in the end, I simply found the right routine, without realizing that the right routine now is caging me and not allowing me to breathe. Not being able to explain all this to Maya then does nothing but increase my walls, which Maya hardly tries to break down, obtaining the opposite effect, so I close myself even more and we end up just arguing, exactly as happened on Sunday evening when we returned from my birthday.

It is since the return trip in the car that I feel anxiety assault me and bite my throat, because I am already fearing the moment when for obvious reasons Maya will want to stop and sleep here. It's not that I don't want to, but getting caught in bed with a person by my daughter or risking her hearing our moans mixing is not in my goals as a mom, even if this person is Maya. I have already tried to explain it to Maya, but evidently something is broken in our systems of communicating and understanding. And then I also think about all the things I have to do tonight, prepare for the week and schedule all the things I have to do tomorrow morning, which is Monday. I don't know if I sincerely have time for Maya and distractions.

After putting Vivi to bed I approach the living room in the same mood as if I were facing the walk of final shame towards the gallows. Unexpectedly, however, I find Maya still with her shoes on her feet, who seems ready to leave, and a shadow of disappointment runs through my face. Yes, I know, I'm extremely spoiled and moody I know.

C < are you going?> I ask and she smirks.

M < it seems to me that you didn't want me here...> she admits, going directly to the point. Surely, I can't say her she's right.

C < as usual, you make and break things on your own...> I say, attacking her to defending me. Maya sighs, throwing her head back on the couch and closing her eyes.

M < I really don't want to argue, Carina...> and when she calls me with my entire name, I feel a thrill running through my back.

C < so change the attitude!>

M < am I the one who has to change the attitude?!> she asks ironically. She opens her eyes, but also she gets up from the couch, coming a few steps away from me. < first, you was offended by a stupid joke, then you see that your daughter doesn't hate me, so you come back to me, but...but then it's time to stay alone with me and it seems that this sucks for you...> I shake my head, but she talks again. < still when you scream my name it doesn't seem to me that you dislike me so much...> she is quieter, but more poisonous. I barely laugh, bitterly.