The first week my daughter was back in our home was filled with tension. I never seemed capable of reading her moods. She was all over the emotional spectrum. Up, down, happy, sad, angry, forgiving...a nightmare of neuroses. I began staying silent, until she spoke, so I could try to gauge her current mood and then decide how much I could communicate with her. If she was happy we could talk for an hour or so...lighthearted conversation about this and that. If she was sad, I basically just listened and let her do most of the talking.
The emotion I hated the most was anger. I never became quite adept at reacting in whatever way she needed me to when she was in her anger zone. I'm still not sure how to respond to her rages. I just know that it pisses me off when any of her boyfriend angst is directed at me. I tend to just subtly remove myself from her presence when she's in one of these attack modes and later, when she's calmer...maybe we can talk.
Those first few days of cohabiting again were definitely stressful. I was glad she at least had a full-time job and was busy, away from home, for nine hours a day. I was always happy when I'd get a "good" phone call or a "joyful" email sometime during the day. I could only hope that she'd maintain these positive vibes after she got off work and came home.
I made her as comfortable as I knew how. She went to bed fairly early that week or spent hours talking to friends on the phone. Better them than me...I couldn't help but think. A part of me wanted to go find the boyfriend and rip him a new one...but the mature, semi-stable me, knew I couldn't do that. I can dream though can't I?
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