Brooding and broken, she rested her hands and head on the railing of his crib, looking in on him as she always did when she couldn’t sleep. If she couldn’t make her life what she had wanted, how could she guarantee she could give him a good life? She felt the tears clogging her eyes again, but she refused to acknowledge them, not when her sweet, beautiful boy lay sleeping in her sights. How had she become so blessed and so cursed? He was in every way her miracle, the key linking her here to responsibility, honor and duty. Otherwise, would she not still be with his father, living a life where you are seeking the next pleasure, the next fix.
She hadn’t intended on getting pregnant and when she realized she was she didn’t take it very seriously. How could she when all she had known for years was based on fulfilling her own selfish desires? It wasn’t until she felt him kicking that someone had finally knocked some sense into her. Upon waking from her ostentatious living she realized how alone she was and how ephemeral her life had been. She needed stability; she needed to take care of this baby.
On nights like these where the cravings hit her the hardest she felt pulled because half of her hated who she had been; that had been the point of rejecting that life, but at the same time, she missed it. She felt as if she was still that person who had only put on a mask of adulthood. Sometimes she imagined friends, co-workers and neighbors could see through it all and every day she waited for someone to pull of the mask and show her for what she really was. Her heart rejected that life, but her body craved it. She feared her toddler could see the two people inside her constantly fighting and that frightened her. Would she ever escape it all?
hmmmm is this about what I think it is?
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