The responsibilities of raising Beck have completely fallen on my shoulders. Not one to admit that I am resentful about it, I never bring up the subject to anyone—Holly included. Thus, nobody knows how I really feel about my life. How much of a prisoner I am beginning to feel like locks up tight within the uncomfortably snug parameters of the life I have created for myself.
I wonder where all those glorious moments of perceived success that glistened in the sunlight have gone. It seems as if I am leading someone else’s life, not the one that I thought I was destined to have and to create with my soul mate.
I love and adore my baby, of course! Carolyn would always say to me that I need not ever validate my love for my child, because the love there is so obvious. Beck is a gorgeous, healthy and (when he isn’t tired!) generally happy baby. I cherish the softly tender moments I have with him, playing on the floor of our bedroom, listening to and clapping along with Playskool’s “Little People.” When Beck begins to fuss about something, I quiet his cries with “Kiss Me,” a song that he seems to love hearing me sing.
He unscrews his little face and begins to smile, as I literally watch his body begin to relax along the melodies of the music and my voice.
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