Nettles update: six years.

“Ima, I want to call Grandma.” 

That’s how it’s been for days since we left New York, rushed, unplanned, in the style of not letting dough rise. 

We basically fled the city, across the ocean, back to the Middle East, straight into quarantine. Straight into days of looking into your eyes, which have been glazed over. Uncertain. Anxious. Questioning.

Nettles, I could spend reams on showing you how much you have grown up this year – begging to learn to read and write, opening up with your verbal expression, finding ways to play on your terms, and run the game. Taking responsibility, contributing to your home. Trying new things, taking new risks, keeping your bed organized the way you like. Being open about what doesn’t come easy, but being a bit more brave about trying it anyway. Expanding your friendships, asking for what you want. 

Except now everything happens through a filter. We’re all walking through a hazy fog of unknown. 

There’s a new thing you do; you stop what you’re doing suddenly, come up behind, wrap your octopus arms around my waist and, almost pleadingly, exclaim “!״חיבוקי (“Hug!”). 

Before corona you weren’t exceedingly cuddly; now it feels like holding on tight is keeping you going. And that’s ok. 

We’ll get past it.