I was tired. I had been tired a long time. At some level I had been tired my entire life. As a child, shouldering the burden of an overly confidential mother who discussed her sex life with me before I turned 8; a college student who hadn’t done her homework, who never did her homework; an obese adult carrying around an extra century of weight before surgery forced me to shed it. At some level parenthood held no candle to any of this.
But at another level it dwarfed everything. The totality of the situation, the finality, the statement. You were a mother; you did what needed to be done. There was no escape. Love itself was the warden.
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