Today, I want to share something that happened the other day. It hit me hard, and it still hasn’t let go. I don’t often share photos of my son, if ever, but this one popped up today.
Why can’t I write consistently??? Him.
Why do I struggle to get words? He’s running through the house and into my office like his ass is on fire.
But then, tonight… this fucking kid.
He tells me, “Mom do you know how proud I am of you?”
To which I reply, “Nope but you don’t have to be proud bud. Just go to bed.”
He says, “Of course I do. You’re making your dreams come true.”
Excuse me, like what?
I can’t fucking breathe with how much that fills my heart and just kills me.
When I had him, I swore that he was all of my dreams.
That everything I hoped for in life was in him.
And yet, here he is at 8, telling me he’s proud of me. As I’m sitting at my computer cursing something on my screen and my brain for not functioning.Put a fucking spork in me. I’m done.
Guys — You don’t even understand. I hate posting photos of myself. I hate posting my son even more. But this… kind of demanded you see him. And how attached he is.
I love him. More than anything.
Full on – If I had to kill myself to save him, I’d do it without thought.
But sometimes it’s hard. We all know that.
Sometimes we just need to breathe.
And that’s inevitably the time that R digs in and insists on attaching himself to my side.