A hand over my mouth. No a mask. A mask covered with flowers. Then an austere gray one, a practical little black dress black one. I don’t speak as clearly behind a mask. I am not heard as well. Others cannot see my smile, something I have always gotten complimented on, my teeth once shiny white now tea stained, receding gums hidden behind my lips but still a big infectious smile, my laugh more of a guffaw than a laugh. Someone once asked me if my laugh annoyed others. Those that I love say they love my loud, distinctive bray, now quieted behind fabric. Yes, I used the word bray.
My lips have changed over the years. The pink has softened to a muted rose; nothing a little tinted lip gloss can’t help. The outline has become less distinct, little lines marching along the perimeter, drying out in the winter cold or summer heat, perfect in the dampness of spring. A little black spot appeared on my lower lip a year or two ago. Not cancer. I got it checked out. Hormones? Or all those years in the sun forgetting to wear sunblock, lips puffy with burn?
Lips that kiss my daughters’ soft hair, their soft little hands. Even when wearing a mask.
I am propped up on the couch, my immune system screaming WTF. Second shot yesterday, wanting to feel good about the decision, wanting my Mom to meet my now one-year-old daughter she’s only seen online, read to our four-year-old in person, brushing hair out of her eyes, snuggling on the couch. I am achy and sore and my lips tremble when I cry. My four year old wraps her arms around me (Softly, sweetie, Mommy is hurting) and brings me tea and pretend food to help me feel better. I bring the wooden pieces of bread and meat up to my lips, force a smile, pretend to eat, to feel nourished.
And I am. Nourished. By this little being who has bright blue eyes, unlike me, and freckles forming on her nose, just like me. By the other little one whose eyes are deep brown, a darker shade of mine, whose lips curl into smiles with each assisted step across the floor. Unmasked joy on her face.
The masks have been hard. This year has been hard. All the choices have been hard.
And here we are.
And here we are.
And here we are.