Clouds? Luna?

I stepped into your room again in the dark. Again, doubting myself, “Should I just let you cry a bit?” But sweeping those thoughts away as I realize I’m about to embrace your soft skin. Who cares that it’s 5:30 AM? I get to hold you near me before we can even see each other.

Your morning greetings keep getting better and better. I imagine your brain consolidating your reality of the day prior and then pushing forward phrases in shuffle mode as soon as you’re conscious. So random. So endearing.

Today, you asked to see the moon. I bring you close to the window and yank the curtains to reveal the sky, but all we see are clouds.

“I don’t know if we can see the moon tonight,” I whisper in your ear.

You look for a few more seconds, “No luna!”

We lay on the little reading couch by the window, bundled under the waffle blanket, playing the “Spin the Bookshelf” and pulling random books to read. 5 Little Monkeys, Baby Baluga, Elmer. More books, mama!

Then, you see her. “Luna! There she is!”

The clouds shift, revealing her brightness and roundness for just a few seconds, and then she’s gone again. You seem confused.

---

I started drafting this slice in my head as we drove to the doctor’s office this morning for your 2-year check-up. Somehow, the “steadiness” of the moon behind shifting clouds made me think of friendships. I thought, “That could be another letter.”

In the waiting room, while you examined Bea’s sad face in the pages of your book, I wrote this title and saved it as a draft, along with a promise to work on it during the day.

Here I am now, about to crash at 10:28 PM, publishing an incomplete slice with a “maybe promise” to finish up the initial idea tomorrow—A “maybe promise” that sings the tune of your favorite prediction every afternoon.

“Dada home? Maybe yes, maybe not!”