Thursday, February 24, 2011

Dear Carter

So I was staring into your crib last night and I was thinking about life and death.  And I started wondering if I'm scared to die or not.  I know I'm going to die someday; long before you, if I'm lucky.  I am not scared of death, I decided, but I am scared that I am not appreciating my life as much as I could be.  And I don't mean that I wish I accomplished everything I thought I would when I was a little girl.  This is a waste of time: I am not that person anymore.  When I say appreciating life what I mean is: If I died today, would I have played with you enough?  Will I have left enough love behind for you that you will always know you had a mother who would have done anything for you?  Should we be cuddling every second of every day?

I suspect that no matter how many hours cuddling or playing or reading to you in bed I log, it will never be enough for me.  That's the sad realization I came to last night while I was gazing at your snotty face, watching you sleep.  I did this thing.  I had you.  It's something that almost every woman will go do at some point, having a child.  But it probably feels like the same thing to them too - like they just did this incredible thing and nothing they ever do after the deed is done will ever measure up to the standards that this perfect little creature has demanded of you.  You are magical.  With you in my life, nothing I ever do could be considered a waste.  I hate to put this on you, because I know it's kind of heavy, but I live for you.  After I squeezed you out (and squeezed I did) you became the center of the world.  I would like to thank you for saving me from myself.

This blog is here, primarily, for you.  It is here so that one day - even though I will have changed and probably start lying to you the way mothers seem to end up lying to their children - you will read this blog and you will know who your mother was.  Who she really was.  Or is.  Whatever.  I have always longed to have known who my parents really are as people, and not just my parents, but that ship has sailed.  If for some reason I shouldn't be around anymore to give you everything you need, you have all of my neurotic crap to read to remind you that I love you.  That I have a sense of humour about life and also a very tragic way of relating things.

You're in your play pen.  Standing up and staring at me, and chewing on the edge of it with your 4 new top teeth.  Your nose has been running for 4 days solid and today you had zoodles, baloney and cheese for lunch.  And I am going to take you out of the play pen now, and we will go have a nap together.  Because I'll be damned if I'm going to take this precious time with you for granted.  My beautiful boy.

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