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Now, with this gloriously long nap, I could have spent my day doing any myriad of things I complain about not having time to do. I could clean my house. Knit. Or, God forbid, do some writing. Did I do any of these things? Well, a little. No cleaning, but I did tinker with some editing and finished a scarf for one of Clara Jane's daycare teachers.

I'm still struggling with the writing. For everyone who offered encouragement last week, thank you so much. It helped. It really did. I made a chunk of progress on the book during the weekend and was feeling great about the whole thing. But today I started reading what I've written and wound up feeling just as shitty as I did on Thursday.

When I left catering, I had promised myself that I'd spend a chunk of the time that I used to spend catering, working on the book. Tonight being my first non-catering Monday, that means my ass had a date with a damn book. B. practically had to kick me out of the house. My enthusiasm, it was overwhelming. But since he was nice enough to bring his work laptop home for me to use, I could hardly say no.

I headed to a local outpost of the ginormous chain of coffee shops (I think you know which one) and made my first venture into the world of Wi-Fi so I could retrieve my work.

Slight problem: I forgot that this particular coffee chain doesn't offer free Wi-Fi, and I didn't feel like dishing out $10 to spend ten seconds grabbing a file. While I may be a Wi-Fi newbie, I'm not stupid. It took me about two minutes to locate a connection with the local outpost of the ginormous chain of donut shops located across the street. Hey - they were closed and obviously they're not too worried about people stealing their signal, since they didn't have much protecting it.

This is why I'm not a crook. Well, aside from being too ethical and nice. I'm far too stupid to be a crook and would wind up on one of those stupid-criminal specials on Court TV in no time. Case in point:

I was working, and although I wasn't using the Wi-Fi, I had left it connected, mainly for codependent reasons. I was furiously pecking away, and happened to look up to find another patron , about three feet in front of me, watching. We made eye contact and he smiled.

"Are you Wi-Fi-ing it?" he asked.

"Um, yes," I said, and giggled. "Sort of. From across the street. Hehehehehehehehehehehehe."

I wasn't even drinking caffiene, and I was this stupid.

"You naughty, naughty girl!" he admonished, grinning as he started to leave.

Before he walked out the door, he turned to me, winked, and in a loud stage whisper said, "I won't tell on you!".

I immediately disconnected and cried a little for two reasons:

1) I'm going to Wi-Fi Prison.
2) I attract freaks.

I did get some work done, though, which is good. And there's a small chance I might not vomit when I reread it in a few days, but I'm not making any promises.

I got home a few minutes after Clara Jane went to bed. This isn't unusual. She and B. have fairly regular solo anti-Mom nights and she's never had any issues with that. But tonight ... as soon as I walked in she started crying, "Mama! Mama! Maaaaaaaaaaaamaaaaaaaaaa!" I went to her room and she reached for me from her crib. I lifted her out and her crying was replaced with happy chatter before she pointed to the rocking chair and asked me to rock her.

Now, this is highly unusual, as she has had no use for that rocking chair in months. But we rocked. I hadn't even had a chance to remove my coat; she nuzzled into the collar, drooling on the suede as she fell asleep. I placed her in bed and went to find B. to tell him of this unusual turn of events.

"I think she really missed you tonight," he said. "She kept saying 'Mama went bye-bye. Mama went bye-bye.' all night." But the clencher - after her bath, she usually sprints from the bathroom, screaming, "I'm naked! I'm naked!" at the top of her lungs. Tonight, she didn't. Apparently because I wasn't there to yell, "You're naked! You're naked!" back at her.

And thus the flip-flopping continues. I felt terrible about writing on Thursday. By Saturday, I knew it was right. Earlier today, not so sure. This evening at the coffeehouse, it was right. But now ... the mama guilt is just about as thick as the codependence.

In a perfect world, I'll get this book written without getting hauled away by the Wi-Fi Police and without emotionally scarring my daughter or driving a wedge into our relationship. Someday she'll read it and will be able to see that I wrote it not only for myself, but for her. And I hope she thinks that it was worth not having me there to chase her as her bare feet slap the hardwood floors every night. And if she does think that, I hope she can convince me to think the same because right now, I'm not.