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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