Dear Reese,
Tonight’s way to keep you occupied while I cook dinner is to open the refrigerator. This cannot be energy efficient. Or good for the food. But you love taking out your puree pouches and the packet of cheese and whatever else you can get your hands on from the lower shelf.
(It’s not much. But that’s more a testament to my ability to keep a well-stocked refrigerator.)
You wake up before 4 am this morning, crying for me. I bring you into my bed, and you toss and turn and headbutt me by mistake once or twice before settling again. I forgot what knocking heads feels like.
I also forgot what it feels like to have someone else tickle you (thank god, I do not care for it), but I feel it again as you crawl over me while I lie on your bedroom floor this evening. You love the game where I pretend to fall asleep, and you have to wake me up.
I crawl into my bed, nauseous again tonight. Whatever is going on with my system, I can’t wait for it to pass.
Love,
Mama