Dear Reese,
We have a sweet evening together. You show me how you can climb down stairs — you go maybe five in a row, backwards and feet first as you should, a feat I’ve never seen you attempt before. You seem proud, and I am proud of you, too.
There is heavy family news today, but you are walking around the parking lot without holding my hand like it’s nothing. You help me put the frozen chicken nuggets and sweet potato fries in the air fryer. I hold your hand while you walk with me to throw trash away. Every little thing amazes me, and on days of hard news, I am doubly grateful for all you are to our family.
Someday, I don’t know if you’ll read these letters. Or find them interesting. These bits of our days together. I like writing them. These little things I want to remember. And the little things I want you to know..
One of them is this: communicate with your family, your whole life. Then, when you need it, they can help you. That’s what family does. At the end of the day, it’s your family and your closest friends you can count on. Perhaps that wisdom isn’t true for every family, but it’s true for ours, darling.
I tell you this, and then we brush your teeth. You are practicing holding the toothbrush yourself and somehow end up sitting in the sink playing in front of the mirror. I get it.
When you go to sleep, you cry a few minutes after I leave the room, and I return. A rare occurrence these days. I hold you for another lullaby and then hold your hand while you lie in the crib. I am in no rush. Eventually, I just lie on my back on the carpet, looking up at the stars Cappi painted. I sneak out of the room once you’ve fallen asleep.
Love,
Mama