She Will Amaze You

It is hard for me to be alone. Years ago, no, even just one year ago, being alone was something I cherished. Little moments of peace and solitude. Back then I didn't realise just how lucky I was to have worries no greater than wondering if we could afford to eat out more than once a week. In those quiet moments, like now, for instance, in the wee hours of the night, I have nothing to bide my time with, but the slowly ticking clock, and my thoughts and worries.
Outside, I can hear a group of teenage boys, drinking in the church parking lot. They don't know how lucky they are.
You see, in these moments I am faced with reality.
I used to write, gosh, I could write for hours. I used to draw, doodle, fill page upon page, book upon book with ideas, hopes, dreams. Now, I am afraid to let the pen go free across the page, afraid to let my subconscious take over, afraid that I might be horrified by what appears across the pages. Instead, I force myself, limit myself, to lists about topics to research about Prader-Willi. Life expectancy? Fertility? IQ? Will she be able to speak more languages (here, I just resisted the urge to write "will she be a poliglot?"), God, will she be able to write?? Not letters on a page, but do what I did for so long, to pour out your inner most secrets to a book of blank pages, that soon becomes YOU?
And then my mind races to all she is going to have to face, all that we all take for granted, all that most are so lucky to have come with ease, and my eyes sting, and my throat burns, and before I know it, tears spill onto the pages of stupid lists, and I feel broken.