Nine, or three quarters
Feels so quick for you, or so long for me, but I'm tired either way. Although things aren't progressing as quick as I'd like, and I did my best to make things move along as quickly as I could, but there's a lot left to do, and there's a lot fun left undone because I've already compromised on you.
I want to be stern, I want to be firm; I want to be a father figure. There are sounds you make, voices you cry, and real tears to wipe away when I can't seem to figure things out.
You're learning to be a little more expressive and a little more demanding, but communication lines are still thin. Complexity has to be managed, and context has to be gleaned from grunts, squeals, and whines that make me wish you were a little more mobile so I could guide you to help me help you a bit faster.
I've almost died, twice, now and so I know that won't keep me from doing my best, but I do feel that my best is now less than it would have been. I want to take you everywhere and let you see everything, but limitations hit me for time and money; work beckons every morning and has me racing back at night. The decision has been made to ditch SD and move back to SF, but that only makes this feeling more intense. The budget for my health, wealth, and future has been wiped out.
My anger still comes and goes in spurts, but I've also had the last three months to spend time with two women in my life that I'll never forget. For that, I'm forever grateful.
Look this way, little girl, and don't be angry with me.