Missing Me, Jessica

That little pink being is now five days old. I should be covered in baby sick, boobs out and hair unwashed. Instead I am having my scalp gently massaged and the smell of apple shampoo is sending me into a daze. In this new world where the halogen lights become distant stars and the sounds from the music channel beat in my veins, I am alone. My shoulders are open, my chin is raised and my arms are wide. I take a deep, deep breath and blow out the air through pursed lips. There is nothing before me, nothing is happening and nothing has just occured. This complete stillness is disturbed only by a distant feeling. There is an emotion at the edges of my consciousness trying to break through. I know exactly what it is and am fighting to keep it out. Thinking it away means I think it into being and I am powerless to prevent myself from feeling overhwelmingly . . . guilty. Guilty at leaving my tiny son with my partner, guilty at leaving early for my hair appointment to wander aimlessly around the shops, guilty at getting away, guilty for seeing it as getting away and guilty for needing to get away. I miss him, I do, I love to have him with me, but I miss me too.