Last night, I slept in the bedroom of my childhood. I closed my eyes to the familiar sounds of late-night TV.
I opened the familiar window next to the bed that was once a bunk bed. The rain sounds, smells, just the same.
This morning, I woke to the familiar cry of the baby.
While I was still stretching, grandma scooped him up. I stretched in unfamiliar freedom and quiet. I slept again.
Later, an event even more abnormal. In peace, I took a shower. I was alone, all alone, from start to finish; I got dressed, even brushed my hair and my teeth- all without a single interruption.
It is so nice to be a mother mothered by a mother.