I count my time in dog years

Swimmin’ in sevens, slow dancin’ in seconds

Oh and I’m the one who loves you, I’m the one who loves you

I spend my time daydreaming

As sure as the sea, it’s just you and me

Those are the song lyrics to Dog Years by Maggie Rogers. It played randomly on my Spotify, so I told Allison to give it a listen, thinking she’d think of her “future fiance” Wes. But she said it reminded her of you.

I sat and read the lyrics, with water in my eyes as I read the words–it was like you were speaking them to me, to her and Cole and Tatum. Every word I could imagine you singing…

And if you’ve had a bad week

Let me sing you to sleep

Oh and I’ll be there waiting when you get frustrated

I know things are changing but darling I’m saying

I’ve been here all along 

I vision when you and I would lay in bed together–both before and after you got sick, watching tv at night and drinking tea in your big king size bed. That water mattress would swallow me up and you had THE fluffiest down comforter. I was so safe. I can still smell you, the sheets, the feathers, and how Dad’s pillow always smelled different than yours.

When I get overwhelmed or upset now, I still lay on my bed (I’m sure a lot of people do) and try really hard to feel you there with me, calmly calming me down. I like to think of you singing me to sleep, even if I am twenty five years old.

But I have been playing that song over and over and over again. In the car, at home, through the speakers dancing to it with Everett, in my headphones getting ready–I can’t stop. It’s so beautiful.

The past two months have been good. The little dude is eight months old now (hence the title–I’m going to go by Everett’s age rather than a random day). I have seen my friends a lot which has helped immensely. Everett is still trying to crawl and loves blowing raspberries and laughing. He smiles when Chris gets home, and I get to see my husband melt in response when he walks through the front door. We go to Grandma’s, Nana visits and lots of trips to the grocery store and Target fill our days. There is a rhythm to our days, and I’m loving it.

I’ve had a lot of moments feeling confident and happy and then lots of days feeling defeated. When something changes with Everett, like a few days of crappy naps, I get freaked out–if I don’t know the perfect answer to a question I have, I get so down on myself and think I’m not able to mother because you aren’t here to help me.

But that’s just an excuse because I will never have the answers for how to mother. If I did, I’d be famous. I know my son is healthy, and I know I am always doing the best that I can.

I love on Everett all day long. I have made sacrifices so that I can be home with him and our future kids. This is what I have wanted, since I was little and I have always believed and believed that I would have what I have now. I didn’t just wake up one day a mom with a baby. I literally dreamed my reality and coaxed my way into all of this.

I was made to be a mom. There is nothing in the world I’d rather be. I forget all of that sometimes and will think, “Is this my life? Do I just sit at home and fold laundry and feed a baby? What is my greater purpose?”

I’ll think about how nice it would be to have two incomes, or wonder if I would’ve made a good lawyer like I always planned. I picture myself getting ready in the mornings, curling my hair, putting on red lipstick and a black suit with a yellow sweater underneath popping out. All from J.Crew because I can afford it.

I fantasize about having projects and that feeling of accomplishing a hard case. Or I think about talking to other adults all day, instead of just my dog and kid.

I guess it’s normal to doubt your choices sometimes, or wonder what another job/situation would be like. When it comes down to it though, I’m happy right now. I’m happy with what I chose, with what I’ve made. Really and truly. And I absolutely have a purpose–my family.

Everything is normal, everything is good. I don’t even know what to write about because I feel fine. I just needed to check in before I gave up on writing to you.

I love you. I miss you. And give that song a listen for me.

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