Intellectual Mother

Intellectual Mother

As I look at him sleeping, the softness of his skin seems to melt the air around him. His body not defined by solid edges, the lines blurred, softened as it by Photoshop editing. Does his softness affect me? Am I softer in his presence, more opening, more welcoming?

Turning back to the screen, I start to read the report again, the formulas and chemical symbols interpreted subconsciously. I see the answers clearly; I never understood why other people didn’t, it was automatic to me. 

My child worn out through frustration of trying to match words and pictures. I’m frustrated that he cannot do it, doesn’t just ‘get’ it. He too is frustrated by it, and by me.