I am struck by the fact that I am a mother. Which is entirely bizarre, since I have spent the past two years staking my claim to that title. Obviously, parenting a living child is a whole different experience.
One sensation that I don't like very much is this feeling that I have of moving away from C. I don't want that. But I do acknowledge that my focus is, and has to be, on BB. And the realization is dawning on me that we are solely responsible for BB as his parents. We make decisions about and for him, and will for the remainder of his childhood. The magnitude of that undertaking is astounding. Especially compared to our previous parenting experience: plan a funeral, choose a headstone, and then look for other ways to memorialize. Really, what I am doing right now is responding to BB's needs. Perhaps as he becomes slightly more independent, I will figure out how to balance the needs of both my boys.
I do not feel as though I am in over my head. More like I was slightly unprepared, mentally, to mother a living child. I didn't allow myself to think that far ahead. So it is a little shocking now. But I am getting used to it.