Of course I can't blame you. Of course I can't resent my sibling. For how little you told me of my father growing up, with your riddles and games, I always wondered, even assumed, that I probably did have half-siblings out there somewhere. It'll be fantastic to have a full sibling and be able to watch him or her grow up -- with the now-infant versions of my cousin and husband and soon Henn and eventually my own children.
I can't live my whole life the way you raised me, mother. I'd never take back a minute of all our years on the road, of all my working backstage the way I did, but I don't want that to be my forever, and I don't want to raise my children that way. I know -- of course I know -- you'll always be where I came from and where I can go back to, but mama, I need to find my own home now, the way you needed to find yours when you ran away.
Of course I forgive you, if you insist that there is anything to forgive. If there are reasons for me to worry and fret and sorrow and regret, those are mine, to be batted around like cat toys until they are hidden or forgotten, and I can only be grateful that I have anyone willing to let me vent and rant and ramble over what it takes to get used to this world after the way you raised me. Still -- no child in the world has ever been born wealthier than I was -- even when we didn't have a cent to our names, I knew I was safe and had a family that was as big as all the roads in the world.
I know you'll be back on the road soon. I know you have to be. I'll miss you, but I'll be all right. I'll have papa, and uncle Teague and aunt Bren, and Skwisgaar and Lulu, and I've been so blessed to have three people as close as spouses who I mean to share my life with. You know I'll miss you and I'll worry, but please come back before the baby's born. I want to be there to meet my new sibling when he first sees the world, and I'm sure I won't be the only one.