Today's writing

Jax smelled like himself. He breathed in in that Jax-way, almost a huff. A person is a person and they are their own being, regardless of whether you see them that way or not. It’s tempting to look at a herd of kids and think that they’re all the same, but they’re not. They all have their own quirks, their own ways. That’s how you recognize your own kid – you know how they run, how they cry, and yes, how they breathe.

 

“Babe,” I said, a litmus test. He hated that nickname.

 

But this morning he just leaned a little further into me. My eyebrows raised with surprise. I put my arm around him.

 

“Babe,” I said, “are you okay?”

 

“I don’t know,” he said. “I feel – weird.”

 

When I look back on that moment I think of one word: depression. It was in him that day and part of me recognized it, even though I didn’t want to admit or accept it. I could feel it. I could almost smell and taste it. When you give birth to someone, you’re linked. Whether you never speak to them again or you’re best friends for life or (probably) somewhere along the spectrum, that thread exists. Could be golden, could be burned, but it will never be cut.