She frowns a little, crinkles form above her nose. She starts over, pointing at every letter, shaping the sound in her mouth, almost tasting the words that she’s forming. Then she looks up at me, beaming because she read the entire sentence without me helping her.
I am happy to be back on my feet more and more each day. I was getting rather bored with hanging around in my pajamas, even though it was pretty blissful to be able to start reading and actually finishing a book without having to put it down every other second.
But oh, to get dressed again. In the softest, most drapey clothes, yes, because the tight ones just don’t feel right yet. And the heels, even though they are staring at me seductively, will have to wait a little longer as well, because as much as I miss them, I don’t feel daring enough to put them back on. But that doesn’t matter. Because even on my bare feet, leaning against the backrest of the couch, I am here, downstairs, where the little ones are. Talking to them, reading with them, being able to comfort them and support them. Being their mama again.
That could easily be the best feeling in the world.