I forget things. A lot.
Who am I doing this for?
intention of writing Ben letters from time to time, with the hope that he would someday read them when he's older and be able to understand his mother for the person she was, both before he was born and when he was too young to form lasting memories. As we approach Ben's second birthday, I have written three of these letters. I keep forgetting he has an email address.
I keep forgetting a lot of things.
"This mom thing is bullshit."
On my list of priorities my mental and physical health hovers towards the bottom, because I have ended up in a place, mentally, that no longer sees the pursuit of better mental or physical health as something of value.
The frustration is compounded by my temporary helplessness: his needs are met to the very best of my ability, and yet in this moment I have, on some level, failed him.