KAIA
There are a thousand ways to fail at being a mother. Nobody writes them down, nobody warns you against it. They don’t come as big neon signs that scream wrong turn, go back.
Instead, they’re quieter.
Like realizing your baby doesn’t chatter as much anymore. Like spotting silence where giggles used to be. Like seeing her carry herself as if she’s already learning that the world takes more than it gives.
Hailey’s six. Will be seven in a couple of months. She should still be babbling nonsense, inventing fairy kingdoms, begging me to play dolls. Instead, she’s stretched out here, watching the sky like someone much older, like she knows something I should’ve protected her from.
And me? I’m not sure when we last really talked. Not the quick “eat your breakfast” or “brush your teeth.” N
