It seems that I am terrible at chronicling events in my daily life even though I am getting better at living them. Harper is sitting up now and babbling away, always happy to see me even if she doesn’t always like being held in my clumsy ways. She turned three months old on the same day that Diana turned 31 this last week.
Business is going well, rewarding work that is growing at a rate I can just barely comprehend or deal with, and still the sweetest part of my days are the bookends – waking up next to Diana and being the first person to pick Harper up each day; climbing in to bed, exhausted, next to Diana after days full of making things and solving problems with my brain.
The weather started to warm up this weekend, and it makes me think that good things are ahead. It reminds me of years better than the one we just left behind. It is a strange thing to have hope, to wake up every day and think that today will at the very least be as good as yesterday was, and probably even better. My ship and my house and my path were in the dark for a long time, and were it not for Diana and my friends and family, the strength I inherited from my parents – a strength I share with my brother, that we both carry in wells so deep it is easy to forget they are there – would have certainly failed me.
I am not normally prone to using language like this about myself or my own life, if for no other reason than I know the bad habits and cowardice I have to strangle out of myself on a daily basis. I think this will seem less weird if I make time to write more often, but for now, I’m pretty proud of myself for not giving up, to have just kept trying. It worked, eventually, and right in time to start being able to do right by my kid. If you’ve seen or met Harper you know I at least have every right to be proud of her.