Dear Reese,
It’s 10:33 pm when I sit cross-legged on the top of my bedcovers and take a breath. I am thirty-three today. Birthdays are often a time for reflection for me. Last year you were four days old and I was sleep deprived and scared shitless.
This year I am too present to have much time for reflection. That’s more than okay.
I am with you. With MorMor and Cappi. With Nana and Bumpa. With your Aunt Jenn. With Linden, Cara, and Julie on a virtual D&D session after you go to sleep. I am with people I love, people who bring me joy, all day.
The condo is nearly spotless after hours of cleaning to get ready for a showing that happens in the late afternoon. It feels good to come home to a clean house. It feels better to come home after enchiladas and s'mores cheesecake.
You were so sweet when I gave you some cheesecake. You crawled to me, then stood up and put your hand so gently on my back as you gave me a hug. As if both thanking me for sharing and sweet-talking me for more.
Soon after, you stand — without anything to help pull you up — in the middle of your play carpet in the sunroom. You take a wide stance and hold yourself there. The room is dead quiet as we all watch you. When you wobble down, we burst into applause, and you applaud too, and I tear up. It feels momentous.
This is thirty-three.
It’s late, but I pull an annual tarot spread. Laid out like a clock, one card for each month and a card for the year in the middle. June is the twelve o’clock position. I skim the descriptions in the deck as I rush to wind down for the night, but there is time for a breath — I think this will be a good year.
Love,
Mama