I returned yesterday from my sojourn VERY excited to see Joe. I missed him like he was a new boy I was dating who’s just learning how to eat food. I thought about him constantly and looked at pictures of him and found nonsensical ways to make all conversation about him. He, of course, hadn’t really noticed that I’d been gone, and was sort of confused, then neutral, then definitely preferred that Morrison (the person who’d been keeping him alive the last few days) held him. At first, my heart broke in half, and I died. Then I fed him, changed him, played with him, kept him alive. And then I remembered that Mothering him is not about me, or my feelings. He’s happy, and healthy, and as safe as one can be in a volatile world, and Alive, and that’s what actually matters. So the fact that I actually hate this picture of myself doesn’t matter, because would you get a look at that joyful, living boy.