Coralie is resting in her crib, home at last, and I am at peace. The house is clean, laundry is done, and I found this scrap of paper in the kitchen near a pen and just... I had to write. I don't know why I'm doing this.

My thoughts were so scattered for so long and lately it is like I have a spotlight pointing me from step to step, illuminating the things in my life that I need to focus on at just the right time. Have I finally gotten myself into some sort of order and sanity? Hah, now there's a laugh.

Coralie is finally home, safe and sound with me. Every intake of her breath, every flail of her tiny fists, hell, even every poopy diaper is a delight. I can't believe I finally have managed to conceive a child. After so many miscarriages, after my first... she is a miracle. I feared I would see only her father's face in her every breath, but he is barely a thought in my mind at this point.

Saving the best for last, or perhaps saving that which I will say the most about... Nate. I love him so much but he leaves me confused and on unsteady ground most of the time. I know that towards the end of the pregnancy I was a wreck. I'd lost Coralie's twin, I was afraid I'd lose Cora too, and I was a hormonal mess. Hopefully he can forgive me for not being the best girlfriend I could have. I know I overlooked a lot of his problems at the time and it bothers me to think that I hurt him by doing so. After I lost the twin I was so scared that any stress and I'd lose Cora... nearly did. I refused to get emotional and I pushed his problems out of my life, as well as the problems of all my other friends.

Now when I look at Nate, I see the harm I did, and I see his stress all over him. Want a laugh, kitchen scrap? I'm scared to ask him about everything. I'm afraid that if I try to help him that I won't measure up. There is also a fear of being rebuked. When I've tried to talk to him in the past it rarely went well. I think I touched through the other night, showed him how much I do care and do want to help, but I hope it isn't too little too late. I haven't seen him since that night and I want to. I want the chance to step to the plate. He deserves better than what I have been and if this is going to work, I need to give that to him.

Hah, so this is why I never kept a journal. Looking at this scrawl, black and white lines of reality etched here, makes me cringe. I can't stand to see my problems so outlined. I like them as a floating thing in my mind where I can prioritize, push away when needed, hide away if I have to. Sorry, kitchen scrap, you're meeting the trash can momentarily. At least, maybe, unloading some of this can help me focus better, be a better girlfriend, mother, just be a better person.

Okay, gah, stopping now! Trash can, you!