Or "Welcome to My Nightmare."
I still some days, when I hear that enchanting chirp that is my alarm, roll over, slap the snooze button, and hope I hear a cry. Just a little whimper maybe? Something. Or maybe I will put my hand on my massively bulbous belly, feel those good strong kicks, and I will realize...
But it's not. It's not just a nasty, horrendous, cruel, horror-show-that-is-my-new-life, big, fat, fucking dream. And I hate it.
There are parts of my life that I love. A few of them in fact. Meadow, Lennon, Lee. Being Holden's mommy too. It just wasn't enough. It will never be enough. I didn't get enough time. Sure, I'll always be his mommy, but I want to be the kind of mommy who gets to cuddle, and feed, kiss booboos, help with homework, straighten ties, and the countless other things I will never get to do for him. I don't have a little boy. I WANT my little boy.
Sometimes it feels like Holden's life was just a dream. A sweet, beautiful, I-never-want-to-wake-up-again, kind of dream. I'm glad it's not. Because at least I had that. And it was real. Holden was real. Holden is real. And he is loved.
