I admit, I often feel a tinge of guilt about how frequently I send our pup outside. I promised you a furry friend and brought home a dog, yet managing her can be quite a task. Your joy when we welcomed Bella into our lives was worth every moment spent cleaning up after her. But let’s face it, sometimes I just can’t handle the mess. Still, I’m not apologizing for adopting Bella. She’s a constant reminder of love, and every day, I witness the bond you share with her, just like that day we unwrapped her from that little blanket.
I’m sorry that we seem to be perpetually out of your beloved ice cream. I know how much you treasure it—honestly, I think you might be a little obsessed! If I had the funds, I’d invest in Turner Dairy stock. Perhaps my own love for it contributes to our dwindling supply. But I’m definitely not sorry for indulging your sweet tooth. I’m the first to suggest a trip to Dairy Queen, because if I can’t whip up the dessert that brings you joy, at least I can be the one to hand it to you.
I apologize for my grumbling about your obsession with binge-watching Everybody Loves Raymond. Seriously, we’ve seen the same episodes so many times that I can recite them by heart. I can practically hear the laugh tracks playing on repeat. You’ve shifted from just watching the story to spotting the bloopers—maybe you’re plotting to create your own YouTube video about them! But I won’t apologize for introducing you to the show. Your laughter is contagious, and now you share those genuine, belly laughs with me. It’s a different kind of joy from when you were a toddler, singing along to The Wiggles, but I think I prefer it.
Every day after school, you walk through the door, and for a moment, I see my little boy. But then reality hits—you’re not that child anymore. You’ve got the weight of teenage life on your shoulders, contemplating cars and jobs. Your face still reminds me of those childhood photos stuck on my old phones, yet your eyes tell a different story. They reflect a young man on the verge of big changes. These next four years will transform you, and for that, I’m a bit sad. But I won’t regret the empty ice cream containers or the scrapbooks left unwritten. Not one bit. Seeing you happy and thriving makes this journey worthwhile.
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In summary, while I might feel a tinge of guilt for the little things, I won’t apologize for the love and laughter that fill our days. It’s all part of the beautiful journey we’re on together.