Baby, Love and Going Home

  • The service having id "propeller" is missing, reactivate its module or save again the list of services.
  • The service having id "buzz" is missing, reactivate its module or save again the list of services.
Baby, Love and Going Home

hard sacrifices. So I only have them in patches. No one is here all the time. It is no one's duty or obligation to be here. Some people have offered rooms and beds in their own homes, but I spent too much of my childhood as a guest in other people's homes to leave my own, especially at a time when I am so prone to emotional thunderstorms. I should feel lucky I have these women who have stepped into where I have always imagined other people have family biological members residing. But their deep kindness tugs at old wounds. The necessity for them makes me ashamed of not having a family of my own. I feel in deficit somehow, as if I lack something that everyone else seems to have with no effort.

Perhaps this is why I have such unending relationships with ex-girlfriends. It is the hardest thing for me to lose people. I hold every past love in a box, deep in the recesses of my little girl's heart. I bank them as permanent, as people who loved me, as people who will always love me, as people I cannot afford to stop loving. Each of them represents an aunt, a grandmother, a mother—someone who never left.

There is one for whom I nurse a particular weakness. I call her late at night, text her all the time, flail, weep, reach for her. Years after we severed the ties that made us mirror images of each other, we still remain connected. And in this time of great challenge I reach for her more. She, I suspect, because she loves me, is kind. But she is busy. I find myself angry at her kindness and resentful that she is so busy when I am trapped in my queen-sized bed at home, or this adjustable bed with grey rails surrounded by machines that constantly check my blood pressure and uterine contractions and the rapid heartbeat of this fetus I already love enough to make me pee my panties with fear when I think of it.

All this is heartbreaking for me to admit. Who wants to be a repeated cycle? I worry I will be like my mother, without even knowing it. I worry I will be too attentive or not attentive enough. I worry I will worry too much. I worry how much of that worry I will bequeath to my



Comments [2]

ms_daresay's picture

Heart

less than 3

KilledMyHeartWifLys's picture

I <3 this

I <3 this

-SolOfaPo-It