7/52- Let me hold on to you
A portrait series of my children, once a week, every week, for the next year.
Anakin: You have the sweetest nature, the gentlest soul. I see how hard you battle sometimes with jealously and hurt, but you never linger on the bad for too long. It’s been a strange time for us all. So much has happened the past few months, so many emotions still to process. I’ve cried for you more than once. Cried because my arms aren’t long enough, my lap isn’t big enough to keep you both as close as you need at the same time. I’ve cried because I’ve been too tired to give you my all, cried because for three years it was just you and me and I had all the time in the world just for you. I’ve cried because you’re still too young to understand that my love for you has grown nothing but bigger and stronger since your baby sister arrived. And I’ve cried because sometimes not being able to do everything for you kills me.
Isis: I’ve lost track of time since you arrived. Every week is significant because you’re a week older, yet every week flies by in a blur. I so desperately want to hold on to every second before I blink and you’re no longer a newborn. As much as I love this time I am also grieving. Grieving because we will never have this time again, because every first with you is also a last. My last pregnancy (most likely), my last birth, a last first meeting. There are days I just want to sit and stare at you all day, run my fingers across your face, tracing everything before it’s gone, before it slips away and turns into something new.