One Long Year
The year is gone but I don't feel any better about it.
My world has shrunk, and hers only grows. I begin to show resentment, lose my temper, and force my way through situations; this is probably a bad thing.
I recognize my limits, but can't do anything to stay within them. Trying to keep any expectation, timeline, or remanence of order is just asking to make myself angry; in this dimension I am weak.
But this is her week; fly in mommy, fit the dress, arrange the cake, hang the decor, sing the songs, blow the candles, and fuss around late night.
She's not walking yet, and that makes me sad, but that doesn't seem like something I can force.
She's not talking yet, and that makes me worry, but that is something I can continue to work on in giving her every word I can.
She's great... I want her never to change but to grow up as fast as possible, for my sake. Teach me patience, or I won't last another year.