So I feel like a terrible mother to you. I didn’t have anything to write on your birthday. I haven’t had anything to write since then either. It isn’t like I don’t think of you, or don’t care. It’s just…I don’t even know what to say. Your brother is taking up more and more space in my body, and the farther along we get with him, the more he is moving to the center of our world.
And I feel vaguely like I’m failing you, even though I know that my time mothering you has past already. You feel farther and farther away…I can’t think about where I was a year ago right now. That horrible empty ache that was my constant companion.
Your brother has been with me longer than you were. He is big enough now to distort the (increasingly enormous) roundness of my belly. Strong enough now that the impact of his kicks can be painful as well as startling. He kicks in places you never could reach. His presence is constant now.
Daddy and I took our honeymoon last week. I kind of expected to have moments of really missing you–I mean, we were meant to take almost this exact trip exactly one year ago. And yet…though you came up in conversation and certainly were not forgotten, it was like this trip was just for your daddy and brother and me.
I guess that’s how life is supposed to go on. You stay the same and we keep walking. But it’s hard to grasp. I feel at least as though I should feel more upset by it.
Time can be kind.