11:04p.m., 5 March 2015
I think I'm on a white. I've transcended my serenity and currently sit in the lap of surrender. I've done my best to control the situation in every way I can, however, I'm going to have to relinquish my role in that regard before I drive myself insane and allow this matter to consume me unnecessarily. I've surrendered, and it's the most liberating thing I can always do for myself. It's like gently untying the noose I put around my own neck with all these wishes, and thoughts, and expectations, and hopes. Before I know it, I'm exhausted and I've barely crossed the starting point. I know it isn't love. It's just infatuation.
Boy, do I love to babysit Baby Infatuation. During the times I have him over, I set up his room, refurbish his crib and make his bed. I feed him constantly throughout the day -- between 8-10 times, change his nappies, brush his hair, bathe him and occasionally buy him new clothes when he grows out of the old ones. At times, even though I'm the one doing the looking-after, he's nurturing me. I feel myself become a better person, just knowing he's there and reciprocates my attention. I don't know how many Baby Infatuations I've babysat in my life, but they don't usually stay long enough for me to see them grow. And that's alright; it's for the best. It chops down the tree of attachment before it borderlines madness. It also eliminates the need for more... more time with him, more responsibility, more titles. 'Bye bye, baby, but nanny's got to go now. Don't worry, you'll find someone else to love you.'
And on to the next one it is...
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