Waking up was extremely hard for me this morning. I try to be strong, to not care, to be grateful for what I do have and accept what I don't, to keep the lonely feelings at bay and I do a decent job of it most of the time, but resolve doesn't always reach one's dreams.
Waking up was extremely hard for me this morning. I can smile at kids and play with them. I can baby-sit and help feed and care for them, but in the end they go back to their real parents. In the end all they really want is their mom to play, their mom to cheer them up after a tumble, their mom to snuggle and hold them close. All they really want is their mom and the nice lady from earlier is forgotten. They don't need me. And in the end all I really want is for somebody to need and want me that much, for us to belong to each other.
Waking up was extremely hard for me this morning. There was a world, a world in which I was pregnant and round and happy, a glimpse into a life that knew what it felt like to wait, but didn't have to anymore. Surroundings were abstract, but I wasn't, Gary wasn't, and . . . . . . my baby wasn't. My baby. I gave birth, my belly was gone, the pain was gone, and in my arms was my perfect baby with fingers and toes, the biggest blue eyes and wisps of light hair. An overwhelming feeling flooded through me. I didn't have to give this child back to anyone because he was ours, was mine. It was so vivid, so real that I can still see his beautiful face and remember his weight in my arms.
Waking up was extremely hard for me this morning because I was finally a mother . . . . . . . and then I wasn't. I cried. Moments like these make me realize that I want a child much more than I let on, even to myself.