An open letter to myself in 365-ish days
How are you doing? Have you eaten? Drunk? Slept? Showered lately?
Please, if not, at least try to go do one of those things.
Also, I cannot fathom what you are dealing with right now.
I suspect that it's both a lot worse and, hopefully, also better than I can now imagine.
If everything happens as planned, our son should be seven months old by now.
Does he look like his father? How ardently I hope for that.
I love that man so much, I suspect I will love mini-him as much and more.
Does he have my eyes? Which are my father's eyes? Which are my grandfather's eyes? That's the kind of wish I hardly dare to say out loud.
Does he like music? Is he the absolute cutest?
Is his father every bit the parent I suspect he will be? Still and always my captain, our captain through any storm?
Are we dealing with mom/bonnie? Keeping her out enough to ensure sanity?
Is it all too much? I am so sorry if it's all too much.
For what it's worth, I am so proud of you.
You made it this far, you will get farther.
I believe in you. I believe you can do this. You can create a home full of love, kindness, and laughter. You can be disabled and a mom and prove that it is both possible and perfectly fine.
Like your husband would say: you can do anything.
One day at a time. One moment at a time. Breathe. Just breathe.
