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Lately, my days have been blurring together. Long nights merge with early mornings and seemingly endless afternoons of just awful television. My sanity begins to wane like the ever changing moods of my infant son.

What little sleep I get these days is haunted by dreams of my mother. She shows up in the middle of big events, like my wedding or the birth of my son. I end up screaming at her, losing whatever quiet dignity I had held onto during our estrangement.

Each dream always ends the same, with her unaware of what, if anything, she is to blame for. And I, lost to the explosive rage at the ignorance and at the raw pain, am unable to articulate that it was a million tiny things, coupled with a few very large things, that pushed me to the point where I could not have her in my life.

With the recent Facebook revealing of my son’s birth, which I know she saw, the pain is very heavy in my heart. My hormone levels are still all wild, and the lack of sleep has definitely taken its toll. I look down at the tiny infant in my arms and try not to break down in tears. I feel a protectiveness for him unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I stand by my choices, painful and stubborn as they might be perceived. I do this for him.