When Bridget was born, something happened that I cannot explain. I've tried to explain it many times. I've tried to explain why I can't concentrate on my work, why I can't concentrate on my friends, why I write, why I plan, why I worry, and of course, why I'm scared of dogs. What happened was that I became a mother, and despite trying to explain it countless times before, here I am again at 3am, struggling to remember my blogger password because, damn it, I feel like there is something I gotta say.

I suspect it is because Bridget is away at my parent's for a sleepover, and it is my first time not having her home for the night. Something around here just doesn't feel right, and I find myself thinking the very thing us feminists aren't supposed to think, or certainly never say: a child should be with their mother.

It will be morning soon and maybe me and Finn will sleep in, and maybe Mike will drive a get us coffees. And I'll clean up the front yard a bit and then, sometime before lunch, my mom's car will pull up and Bridget will be home. I'll aks her how Spy Kids was and I know what she'll say: "Mom, you know what? I'm thinking I might want to be a spy when I get bigger."