My relationship with **** was manic. Strained for days, weeks on end, then suddenly everything would be okay again for a while. We could stay up late into the evening. Talking, laughing, drinking wine. Becoming friends again. Becoming lovers again. His fingers softly tracing the scars on my belly, kissing me softly. Knowing that I still needed to be taken care of, to be loved, to be a woman. Not just a mother.
And that’s how life would go. Ebbing and flowing. Endless ups and downs. And all the while I would be a mother. Taking the best care of my children that I could. Filled with the same doubts that most mothers feel. Was I doing my best. Thinking at night of all the things I didn’t do or didn’t do well and how I would try harder the next day. I would be a better mother the next day.
NaNoWriMo. Plugging along. I don't think i'm going to finish by the end of the month. But, that's okay. It's coming together in a way i never imagined.
It's actually a story. A story i hope someone will read.
Posted by Jess at 04:58 PM Permalink
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I don't think you need to worry about that last part, my dear. Not one bit.
Posted by Chair | November 17, 2006 10:09 PM