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Mother mother

She twisted the alfredo-dressed linguine onto the fork and waited for me to be a baby bird.

It was messy and comical. Some of the gooey strands became untwisted, slapping my chin as I unceremoniously slurped my first dinner at the hospital. I was nursing very-new Teddy, who was latched on successfully. Everyone knows you don’t mess with the beauty of a good latch. My other hand was occupied in a support capacity, plus it was fettered by IV tubing.

I could not feed myself, so my mother literally fed me. She wiped my face, too.

She fed me for six weeks. She nurtured me, nourished me, cared for me by caring for my family when I couldn’t. She dropped everything to come be by our side. She left my dad for the largest, by far, chunk of time they had been apart in 42 years of marriage. She left her friends, her routine, her home, her bed, her garden and stepped into a crazy life of noise, energy, activity, and high needs.

Upstairs in my bedroom, I spent days listening to life unfold for my mom and my children. It began early each morning and didn’t stop until they were tucked into bed. My husband took over dinner every night, coming home from work to tackle the business of feeding a crew. The two of them kept everything afloat. It wore them out in many ways. I know it did.

Now that Teddy is 2 weeks old, it is time for her to return home. Tomorrow, she is driving the 250 miles back to Grand Junction, to my dad, to everything else she left for far longer than any of us anticipated.

Thank you, mom. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

And thank you, dad. You made a huge sacrifice as well, sending mom off to help. I hope you never eat a frozen dinner again.

We said goodbye last night. She decided to spend the last two nights in Denver at my brother’s house, visiting his family. When we hugged goodbye, I cried. Like a baby.

I am still her baby. She fed me.

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