Dear Reese,
When I pick you up from daycare, you accidentally swipe the contact right out of my left eye. It’s a small miracle that I’m able to retrieve it before it goes anywhere and put it back in without pain before I continue putting your jacket on so we can leave. Maybe I should start bringing my glasses with me just in case.
Tonight, we go to the 100+ Women Who Care Giving Circle uptown. I used to attend every meeting and help with the live stream, but the timing falls right onto your bedtime, so we’ve missed the last few. But tonight, I’m a presenter for one of the three nominated nonprofits (the Door County Land Trust).
As people arrive for the pre-meeting social, we hang out in the children’s room in the library, and you make tracks exploring the different toys while taking breaks for a bottle, a few sips of banana mango puree, and some string cheese. I’m not exactly Mother of the Year with that dinner prep, but it works out.
MorMor holds you while I present. You’re in the room at first, but get a little too restless, so you go hang out downstairs. We leave right after I’m done, and you’re so tired by the time we get home that we skip the bath and go right to bed. An hour later, you wake up, and I do my best to rock you until you can go back to sleep. It’s getting harder to hold you in my arms in a way that’s comfortable for you. It’s a little heartbreaking, but you’re growing, darling, and more comfortable stretching out on the mattress than across my lap.
You have started staying “mama” more. I am not fully convinced it’s attached to meaning yet (you often say it while looking at Cappi or MorMor), but tonight MorMor and Beth swear you say it clearly while looking right at me as I approach.
I catch my reflection in the dim red Hatch light as I sing you a lullaby, round two of going to bed. I remember all those early months singing and rocking for ages, wishing you to calm down and fall asleep. I smile at us now. I love being your mama.
Love,
Mama
❤️❤️❤️