I used to tell Momma every time it felt like something magical was stirring in my body, until the day I caught a look—a mixture of annoyance and pity, with a little “bless your heart” thrown in for good measure—that revealed an ugly truth. She was placating me, knowing I’m about as magical as a gym sock. So, yeah, when your momma doesn’t buy it, it’s hard to believe in your own magic.
