They say I can’t care for her anymore. But I’m her mother

I know I’m meant to be more.

Not in the sense that I wasted my life, because I look at Ayelet and Eliana and Davidi, and I know that the very fabric of their existence is interwoven with our chromosomes — mine and Shmuli’s.

But if I’m going to be honest, I have to confess that there is so much more I’d like to create.

Even after seeing my grandchildren, clinging to continuity with their bright eyes and pinchable cheeks, I know that I’d already given everything that I am and all I could possibly be to my husband and kids. And yet there’s still so much more I could be.

I used to think that all I wanted to be was Shmuli’s wife. I was naïve, and I know that now, but when you’re twenty-one and you walk into a marriage, you’re so young, and you don’t know nearly as much as you think you do. Shmuli thought I was mature; I knew I was just idealistic. We created this home of faux china and chicken for two. As I poured sauce over the chicken and plated it next to a large bouquet of wild roses, waiting for him to come back from learning, I knew that I had everything. Already.

What changed? We all know the answer to that one: Eliana. The moment she took her first breath was the moment I gave up my own.

No matter how many times Shmuli and I go over this, he won’t put it to rest.

“Will you just look at it?” He pushed his laptop across the island toward me. I gave it a swift once-over before pushing it back to him. “There, I looked at it.”

“You know, you’re mean without your coffee in the morning.”

I tried rolling my eyes, but they were bleary. “Did you get any sleep last night, Rivs?” Shmuli asked, taking a sip from his #1 Zeidy mug.

“Nothing a little coffee won’t fix.” I added hot water to my own mug, refusing to let him irk me. He knew very well that I was chasing Eliana around the house to coax her back into bed after I caught her sneaking into the fridge. It was my fault, I forgot to put the lock on the fridge for the third time this month. Usually when I slip, Shmuli’s there as my safety net, but now he was using that very same net to trap me.

“You’re in denial right now.” Shmuli shook his head. “Look at you, you’re walking around the kitchen like a zombie. How do you plan on taking care of Eliana today with less than a full night’s sleep?”

I pointed to my own steaming #1 Bubby mug in response.

“Riva, stop, you’re not being funny.”

“What do you want me to do? Sign my daughter away just because I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning? What kind of mother would that make me? She’s my — she’s our daughter, Shmuli. No home can replicate that, no matter how many recommendations it has or how many professionals work for it. Why would we even apply to such a place when Eliana is perfectly fine at home? She belongs with her family.” She belongs with me.

Shmuli looked down, pushed his coffee mug back and forth, and pursed his lips. My fingers froze on the countertop. That was Shmuli’s guilty face.