I laughed.“I’m serious. Sleep, shower, or go outside. Sit in your car and stare at a wall. I don’t care.”The light changed.Maria drove on.Then she said, “You love your daughter. Nobody who knows you is confused about that.”My throat tightened.
“Being tired doesn’t cancel out loving her.”When we pulled into my driveway, Dan was already standing at the front window.He opened the door before I reached it.Nora was against his chest.She was awake.Her tiny face turned toward me.
Everything inside me softened.“Hi,” Dan said.“Hi.”He looked me over.“You look different.”Maria called from behind me, “She got moisturized.”
Dan laughed.Then I reached for Nora.The second she settled against me, I felt another letdown.This time I noticed.I looked down at my shirt.Then at Maria.
And I laughed.A real laugh.Dan looked confused.“I’ll explain later.”Nora made a tiny sound and pressed her face against me.Six weeks earlier, I’d thought being a good mother meant always being available.
Always being grateful.Always coping.I was starting to understand that maybe it also meant knowing when I needed help.Ronald had looked at my body and seen something shameful.That morning, I almost believed him.By evening, I could look at the same body and see something else.
