I feel pretty guilty that this is only the second time granny has seen Theo.
If we lived nearby, we’d visit her every week. But we don’t live nearby. We live three hours away.
It’s a big fat production with the driving, the traffic, the baby stuff, the screwing up Theo’s schedule, and all of that. While all of that is 100% true, they’re just excuses, essentially. It shouldn’t matter. I should be there more. Most of the time, I’m too tired to feel actual guilt. But when I’m here and I see granny and I know how happy this visit makes her (and me, too), the guilt penetrates the fatigue.