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Because he knows, even if I’ve never said the words, and possibly never will.
Braxton Hicks contractions are the most useless and annoying things in the universe, I’ve decided.
So alone and tired and scared all the time. I hate it.
I wasent supposed to do this alone…
“Let me help you.”
“He was supposed to be here.”
This book is gonna hurt
But his face keeps getting further and further from my memory as time passes, that face that I had once known like the back of my own hand is now blurred. Like trying to focus on him through a fogged-up window,
We were such babies, so young and carefree and without a single idea of what this world was about to bring our way.
I have a headache from hell. But Momming never stops.
Some days are easy and I lull myself into a false sense of security that I can do this on my own… and other days, my kids are uncivilized heathens. Those days I usually cry myself to sleep, because dammit, this is hard.
I fucking love the way her eyes dilate and those pink lips part when I say that.
Sometimes I think I’m hiding it well, and other times, I swear they can see right through me to every broken part.
“All these ‘firsts’ without him have been hard.
I don’t know how to make it easier for him, not having his dad here.”
“I know. It’s okay. You don’t have to say it. I just… I want you to know that I’m here. And I see you, sweetheart. Every fucking part of you, beautiful.”
I’m angry at myself,
I’m angry at Logan for leaving us, for putting me in this situation. And then the anger at myself starts all over again, because Logan didn’t leave us…
It’s alarming and disarming and God I’ve missed being looked at like this.
You are so good and kind and perfect and I’m just broken—”
All of these things that I’ve been missing so desperately. Being held, being kissed, being wanted… not being alone and so damn sad all the time.
Touched starved us a thing…
Learning to accept that hard truth. It doesn’t matter how much we want it to be different, it’s not.”
“It’s nice to not have to do it all alone,”
My chest twinges with a hit of envy. She gets to go home with her man, as a family, the three of them. In an hour, I’ll be alone again. Putting my kids to bed and then going to bed alone. Just like every night.
She’s doing that shoulder hunch thing where she curls in on herself, making herself shrink.
Grief, guilt, sadness, and anger all cascade through me like a kaleidoscope on an endless cycle as I sit and stare
My mind is a maelstrom, anxiety crashing through me anew
“I really miss Dad,” he whispers, his little voice breaking, and then his shoulders are shaking. I hold him tightly, tears leaking out of my own eyes at the heartbreak causing my son pain.
“I need you like I need air, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure we have everything in this life that I can. I want every fucking day with you.
