All of your supportive emails and comments mean the world to me. I really do read every single comment, and while I am embarrassingly behind on returning emails, I read them all when they come in. It helps so much that you all indulge me here. Some of the things I write about I literally cannot give voice to. I cannot speak the words.

My mood, my grief, ebbs and flows. When I’m in the lowest point of the valley, I don’t know how I will possibly get back up to the summit, where I can see clearly for miles. Yesterday I went to therapy, and when I came home I said to Mike, “I’m not having a good day.” It’s hard for me to admit that when I’m in the depths. I don’t usually tell him until after. He hugged me, took Annie, and I napped. When I woke up I felt a tiny bit better.

My grip on Annie is tight and it’s hard for me to let her go. I want and need breaks to sleep and recharge, but actually allowing myself to have them is easier said than done. I spend a lot of my downtime holding her, which means I don’t get the rest I need but at least I am getting the closeness I crave.

I try to unwind in other ways. I hide behind my camera and take pictures of Annabel. She is looking more like a little kid every day.

Annie 14

She is my constant, and even when I’m at the bottom of the valley, I feel like I’m at the top when I’m with her.

Have you signed up for Annabel’s birth announcement? The last day is Sunday!