I need more hours. I need to do things. I haven't. I get some things done each day. I have had another birthday, it's past now. Your sister's is next. She will be nine. I need more hours with her while she is little. I've been longing for those days again. When I took her to story-time. When I could carry her for hours. When she would make up her own language. I wish I could dream of you. Every night if I could dream that you were living, I would watch you grow each night. You would be walking now if I would have started those dreams last year. I should have made my brain do that. bring you to life at night in my head. If only I had that control. I cried today and went outside, away from others, to call your daddy. I talked through my tears with him and played with pine needles. I looked to my right and looking at me was a baby rabbit. He wasn't so young that he was helpless. He was young enough to be darling and old enough to explore. I would say that he was a toddler bunny. He watched for a bit and I told your dad that he was there. He made my sadness lighten. He inched off toward where he had come from, the barren underside of a dumpster. His softness looked alien to the hard pavement that surrounded him then. But his gentle curiosity took away the harshness. He made things better today just by looking in on me. Just by taking the moment to notice something in someone he should fear. I hope to see him again. Or maybe we should keep it how it was. I'll let him decide. Night, night Frost mama loves you