You will be constantly reminded that a limb is missing, that your heart is broken, that your worst half is no half at all.
Red plastic cart heading down the aisle, picking up a box of size 3s and size 5s. No he’s not potty trained yet, thanks for asking, and for pointing to another indicator that my life is a mess.
And, oh look! Flannel button downs. How cute. I wonder if they have that one in a medium–or would a large fit him better?– and… Fuck.
I hate Target.
And maybe my life right now. And no, I DON’T WANT A RED CARD.
You see, I’m a nurturer. I didn’t realize that, exactly, until I was on my way home from tonight’s Target trip. Everything I do, I think of the kids and Husband first.
Target trips, grocery story, everywhere, I find myself thinking “does he need this? would he want this?”
And no, he doesn’t. He needs a sponsor and a therapist and a clue.
And I need to stop thinking of his needs and focus on my own.