But I have promises to keep.
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.
It's been a strange few months, surreal, terrifying and wonderful. I'm happy in most ways. I love and am loved... I'm safe and live with my best friend.
I'm also pregnant. These new changes seem rushed but so necessary to rebuild my life and close the dark chapters.
The brain is strange in the ways it protects itself in a seal, blankets itself and goes on autopilot at times. I wonder if I'd ever survive or be as strong and have the endurance I do if I wasn't traumatized at a young age. I think in stages of panic that is perhaps why I revert to the ages I was, when I first survived trauma because when you're young... you're your most imaginative and vigilant. You survive because you can dream and you can hope and you believe in magic and deities, or at least I did.
***
I've been hanging out with my kid and just enjoying the hugs and snuggles and these new complex sentences and ways I can carry small conversations with my little human.
I woke up and stayed in bed until around 9, planning on letting her wake on her own. She didn't though so I hopped out of bed, slowly and quietly opened her door and scooped her out of bed. She rubs her eyes. Smiles and says, "Mommy!" As she's resting her head on my shoulder I say. "Mommy missed you. Want to lay in my bed." She rubs my back and says... "yeah."
We lay in bed and I just hug her. Then I ask if she wants to get up. "No." I say "me either." "I love you." "I luh, you toooo, mommy." I burrow in the duvet and I make sure she's burrito'd too. We just stare at each other and smile.
Urgh. My heart.
I just want to enjoy my little while she is as little as she is and before my arms have to be wide enough to squeeze two of my babies. Could my heart hold room for much more love?
It has to because it can hold so much tragedy and not shrivel into nothingness.
💜
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