I ring the doorbell, waiting patiently outside. I hear a weak “coming” and some shuffling. Who greets me is a mother in her robe, hunched over at the waist, supporting her protruding postpartum belly. Her hair is disheveled. Her mask is revealing exhausted eyes with attempted mascara to look a “little freshened up,” she confesses a little later.
“My husband is just getting the baby; please come in.”
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