I wish I wrote to you more often. I'm sure someday you'll wish I had too. I do write posts in my head, but getting them out and onto this blog takes time I don't often have.
I write posts about how cute you are. How perfect you are. How beautiful you are. I describe the cute things you do.
I write posts about how much I worry about you, not because I think you've got problems, but because the world is problematical.
I wrote a very heartfelt apology about bringing home a baby without giving you any warning. It's not that I didn't try- almost every day we'd pat my belly and tell you there was a baby in there. You were too young to understand. It was quite a shock to have her show up out of the blue, and I'm sorry to have surprised you like that.
Actually, you've handled it quite well. I think you think she's the Best Baby Doll Ever.
I write about the strange journey your body is on. It started out so small, it's no wonder you do things on your own schedule and in your own way. I'd be a liar if I said it didn't worry me. It worries me because I love you, and I want things to be easier for you than they sometimes are. It's frustrating for us all that you have so much trouble talking.
I write about how much I love you. Still haven't gotten that post right though. I'm waiting for them to invent words grand enough to describe how hard I love you. Maybe you'll be a mom someday, then you'll know how that post was supposed to go.
Love you,
Mom
