Mom has come and gone. She concocted a reasonable weekly meal plan that requires little to no thought or time. She dazzled me with the kind of patience and professional distraction techniques that I must have taught her back in my baby days. She even got on the floor and crawled through an empty stroller box to hijack a tantrum. She walked Maltsby, washed dishes, slept on the floor, donned her one dollar Coors tank, strolled through the tangled streets of our hood daily, got lost by following signs for what she thought was route 30 but were instead speed limit signs and judged nary a thing. And when we said good-bye two weeks later my throat was tight and my eyes watered and I could barely look her in the eye for fear of the noises and snotty mess I'd make. But when I did look I saw her see me as her kid. A look I couldn't have recognized pre-Eli and Henry a mere eighteen months ago. I saw violent bottomless love and the strength it must take to walk away from your kid as they face uncharted life.
This motherhood gig is tearing me down and building me anew.