One good thing that came out of Alex’s lung hemorrhage ( besides learning to spell hemorrhage) was an early clarity I hadn’t had with my daughter.

I knew he was my last and I made a point to fully BE in every moment with him. It made things easier when he would normally have been driving me crazy. I was able to step back and say , he will never be in this moment with me again…and enjoy even frustrating or infuriating things…

Anyway that lasted until he was about six and started to be more kid less little boy. And I still get that Grace at times with him, but the magic of that is disappearing.

I find myself forgetting how precious our time is supposed to be. I spend a lot of time beating myself up for stuff I can’t change.

What I am starting to realize is that THAT is not Alex’s experience. Its mine.

He thinks I’m fucking fabulous.

Weird kid. ☺

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

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