It’s official: I give up.
I just can’t place my hopes and expectations on Buffy’s imperfect mothering anymore. The chicks are five days away. Had I another two weeks, maybe. MAYBE. But five days?
Yesterday’s tack was to leave the crate unlatched, thinking: if she could come and go as she pleased, perhaps she wouldn’t feel trapped and would stay longer. So, I wrapped the fleece curtains around the opening, leaving a space as an exit, and Buffy sat there quite contentedly…until 2:30. At which time, she left, and did not return.
There are now fifteen eggs in the nest, NINE of which are perfectly good for eating, or were until I sacrificed them for this little experiment. This morning, she hasn’t returned to the nest at all, choosing, instead, to hang out with her posse.
Now, I get it. I do. It’s hard balancing work and family. Maybe Buffy has just come to the conclusion that all women eventually reach: you can’t have it all, no matter what the magazines say. And maybe she decided that she’s just not cut out for motherhood. But I have babies coming and I need to make plans. Flaky don’t feed the bulldog.
What was the problem this morning? Did she not want to pass through the curtains to get to the nest? There was the same gap through which she passed to leave yesterday afternoon. Is it too foreboding now? I lifted back the fleece curtains…to no avail. It’s Sunday, dammit, and she wants a day off.
But mommies don’t get a day off, Buffy. Ever.