Dear Reese,
What is the word for when your consciousness steps outside your body and you are suddenly accurately aware of your humanness? You feel both too real and unreal at the same time. Flesh and heart and soul moving through reality. It’s like everything that was on autopilot switches to manual transmission. Then, it passes. We settle into ourselves again.
I feel it for a moment, looking at you tonight. You’re on my lap, drinking your evening bottle. You’re beautiful and sweet and apparently very hungry. And then you’re so real. Real. Real. Real. In that unbelievable, out-of-body way. It’s not bad or good or anything but a little moment of existential miracle. And then we are back picking out books to read, and I battle to keep your attention for more than a few pages before you twist and reach for another one.
Ten minutes later, I sing a Taylor Swift song to you as a first lullaby, and I start to ad-lib the lyrics to make them about you. If I had the talent, I’d write songs for you and play them on a guitar each night. Instead, I’ll write letters.
Love,
Mama