Letter to my editor
I'm really sorry that I've been such a total asshole lately. I know that telling you my meds have been off or that I'm dealing with my own "stuff" would be meaningless, but both of those things are true. I want you to know that my listlessness, apathy and general unavailability have nothing to do with you. I want you to know that I love you. That I love you more than anyone in the whole world. That I love you as big as the earth. I want you to know that mommies are people and have bad times too.
During this period of treatment, as I've struggled to "normalize" for the long-haul, you've never made me feel like I'm not really giving you enough. Like I'm ruining your childhood. You've never clung too hard or wanted too much. You've never been unreasonable or regressive. I feel like you've handled every moment of the last four months with such poise and patience and when I ask you for space, you give it to me. But I'm also aware that I'm outside of your world unless I let you into my own. I know that little (big) girls need their mommies and that my performance has not been up to snuff. You need more hugs and kisses. You need a tea party or two. We should be playing with dolls and making up stories and being ridiculous because in a few years you won't even want to be seen in the same car with me, much less admit to my being related.
I wish that you could see you like I do, even on my very worst days: your eyes lit with the world, your pouty mouth in constant motion. Everything is still a wonder. Every thought and idea needs to be expressed and explored. You are so curious and imaginative and narrative. You've already passed through toddlerhood into actual childhood, a place where the word poop makes you giggle uncontrollably for twenty minutes and you get into trouble at school for singing about tushies. It's an exhausting, unfamiliar place for me, and I want you to stay there as long as you can, but when you're thinking, your brow furrows and I know that soon enough you won't even be a child anymore and if I don't get my shit together I'll have missed it all.
I hope that when you're grown up this blog will be around and you'll have access to something I never did and that you'll understand something about your own mom that I never will about mine. I hope that when you're grown up this will fill in some gaps of interest, rather than create a missing person. I hope you grow up to be happy and it doesn't occur to you to look for answers or missing information. I hope that there won't be anything missing.
Most of all, I hope that when you're grown up you'll still feel the need to snuggle something against your nose to fall asleep.