Adira and I are in such a bubble, and I live in fear of the day the bubble will be no more. In the meantime, though, it’s so magical and sweet that I can hardly believe it’s real. We have such an ease about us. We make each other laugh, and roll around the bed, and read each other’s minds all day. I know what she wants, I know exactly what she’s looking at and what her point means. I know when she’s looking for airplanes in the sky, I know when she spots a book she wants me to read and is about to ask me to before she even starts whining, I know she needs to turn off the light switch when we leave the bathroom and touch the keyholes in the elevator; that she will point to the picture of my mother on the bookshelf every time I show her the picture of my mother in her album. I know when she’s tired, overstimulated, excited, insecure, beside herself with joy. I know. I know her better than I know myself. She knows me, too. She knows when to furrow her brows with concern at my anxiety or stress. She knows how to make me giggle by wiggling her head. She knows when I’m trying to sneak a chapstick usage by her without swiping a little on her lips, or that I won’t approve of what she’s doing – she’ll startle and throw an illicit object away from herself when I come back into the room. She will look at me in such a way that reveals to me how I’m feeling before I have even processed it. She’s my moon and my mirror. Right now, it is hard to tell where I end and she begins, and vice versa. She can pull down my shirt and start nursing, and I can sit there talking to someone, her on my lap, and absentmindedly nibble her cheek. I want this forever. I know it is ephemeral, and at the same time I cannot imagine she or I any other way.
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