The Fragile State of Motherhood

A micro-memoir

Mum came to visit in the NICU on day three, or was it four?

I was a mother now too — a bather of scared-to-break limbs and fingers; a nasal-tube wrangler; a cow on a milking schedule.

She sat in the middle of the ward: exposed on all sides; linoleum floor — speckled egg blue — stretching out from under her flat-soled shoes.

She cradled her first grandchild; I cradled my mother, my hands circling her arms.

Slow tears wet her cheeks.

She whispered, “Why is this so hard?”