Maybe, Baby

I love Elijah. I love his smile, his heartwarming eyes. I love how when he’s excited his face really does look like :D and that he fake cries. When he screams his face gets rosy, not red, probably because he’s a golden child. I love his little flat feet and his little dirty hands, long nails and all. His hair is tousled and fuzzy, like mine, reddish and golden like mine. I love his little tummy and his long limbs. I love how strong he is and how he’s been standing almost as long as he’s been cooing.

I love Quentin. I love how warm he is and the shape on his body. I love the softness of his skin and the smooth complexion of his tone. I wish I could remember more of the things I do love about him but I’ve been hating him for so long that I’ve forgotten (on purpose?) what they are.

I love to watch Elijah with his father. I love the way they interact and the way he laughs and growls. I love that he asks for his food and pulls on his hair. I love when they fall asleep together and look like the same person.

In a lot of ways I am a mother to both of these boys. One, biologically. One, spiritually, emotionally. i only want to be a mother of one and this is where my conflict irrupts from. I only have enough energy in me for one of these boys. The other demands and needs too much. I can only give him what’s already been given and I can’t continue to prove myself when it’s in vain. It’s only a matter of time before I cheat again and I hope that it isn’t me cheating so much as me leaving. I don’t deserve to feel like scum because I’m not. I have sex with other men to push him away. To justify my unhappiness… for that fleeting feeling of excitement. I guess this has less to do with being a mother than I thought it would, but if anything, being a mom comes the most natural.