Today was not my best mental health day. Not the worst, either, but definitely more of a day you get through than a day you cherish. Except. After dinner I took my son to the playground—mostly to kill time, if I’m being honest, and aren’t I always? I stood watching him fumble his way around the equipment; I resisted interfering when he kept trailing two older kids who were playing rough—though at least one did tell the other that “the baby’s right there.” (Oh, so he IS still a baby, I thought with relief.) And I did intervene when he tried to step off a climbing wall without looking down at his feet.
Grief is love
Grief is love
Grief is love
Today was not my best mental health day. Not the worst, either, but definitely more of a day you get through than a day you cherish. Except. After dinner I took my son to the playground—mostly to kill time, if I’m being honest, and aren’t I always? I stood watching him fumble his way around the equipment; I resisted interfering when he kept trailing two older kids who were playing rough—though at least one did tell the other that “the baby’s right there.” (Oh, so he IS still a baby, I thought with relief.) And I did intervene when he tried to step off a climbing wall without looking down at his feet.