Sometimes I feel like you own me. My life. And I resent you so much for that. And then I hate myself for feeling that way. You ask, no, you DEMAND that I take you in my arms and cuddle you, not caring that I don't feel like cuddling you right now, not caring that when I'm the one who wants the cuddles, who NEEDS them even, you can't be bothered. So, sometimes, pityless and mean, petty and a little bit cruel, I flat out refuse. You get upset, mad at me. I'd like to think it makes you sad but, truthfully, the only one who's sad is me. What you feel, most probably, is that you're not getting your way. What I feel is, once more, that I'm such a lousy mom. And, once more, I hope in the end you'll remember the good and obliterate the bad. I hope you'll retain the immensity of my love and erase all my shortcomings. I wish I was better for you, baby. I wish I was more patient, more creative, more involved. I wish I could stop thinking about all the things I can't do because of you instead of all the ones I do thanks to you. I wish I was less selfish. I wish I'd grow up, already, and finally be done with my grieving for my old life and my old self.