I’m so sorry every day looks exactly the same.
I’m so sorry for getting angry, so often. I’m frustrated. I’m lost. I’m anxious. But you are most important to me, always. Yell, apologize, repeat. Time is meaningless. The days blend and blind like getting sun in our eyes. Only night brings some sort of relief; we’d be here anyway, tucking you and your brother into bed. Sometimes I pretend we’ve had an exhausting day, for all the right reasons. It won’t always be like this. Are you getting enough from me?
I can feel you but my head is in the next room, waiting for a sign. I see your smile in pictures I take myself and wish I’d seen it as it crept across your face. This is pandemic fatigue. I think you must be sick of me and I feel I don’t deserve the two of you.
Today you woke to the same damn sunrise, to the same alarm, to the same three faces. You brushed your teeth with a new toothbrush, possibly the only subtle change in months. You dressed yourself in familiar clothes and padded downstairs, requested the same breakfast, watched the same television show as you waited for remote school to begin, sang the same good morning song.
And then, when your teacher asked you to draw something that makes you smile, you drew me. And I swear I was right there to witness it when that smile crept across your face.
You are remarkable, you are stronger than I’ll ever be, and I feel I don’t deserve you.