Only, most days I feel like I’m a single parent, because Wren’s always at the damn airport, or in the air, or making plans to be. And what am I left with? Dinner plates that grow cold from waiting, a toddler who asks for “Dada” incessantly, and this inhospitable subarctic soil that I’m lucky to grow weeds in. I’ve just kept on giving this man parts of me, not realizing that I was losing myself in the process.
