Unwell

November 4, 2025 — 9:10pm

Dear Reese,

I sing to you in the sun room while you bury your head in my chest. Your cheeks wet with tears. By all reports, you had a tough day. No fever, but something hurts. We suspect those canine teeth are all pushing through.

I cradle you, my baby. Cappi gives you a back massage while you lie on the play rug, like Nana used to do for us.

The Tylenol helps eventually, and together we coax you into eating biscuits, peanut butter, and a strawberry banana yogurt pouch. Our original dinner sits abandoned on the counter.

You want to have fun, but it’s hard tonight. We cut the bath short, and when I lay you down on the crib, you don’t immediately flip to your stomach as usual. You lie on your back, staring up as I turn off the light.

I hope you feel better in the morning.

Love,

Mama