I was 24.

The very same age when my mother had me. It was pinnacle to me, but that did not calm my nerves about being a parent.
I’d had a C-section, so the stay in the hospital gave me enough time to really get used to having a baby, but once I got home and all the friends had left and I was all alone looking down on this little bundle – I was terrified.
I mean, not the apprehensive like what to do. No, it was worse. I was so scared I was going to hurt her or do something horribly wrong. I was all alone and no one was there to help me.
She started to cry.
Even after being trained in the hospital, I was at a loss for what this human being wanted. I didn’t understand this crying language and it frustrated me that I could not appease her because of this language barrier.
My mother called me that night.
“How are you?” she asked.
I lied, “I’m good.”
“You must be tired.”
“No, I’m fine.” My stomach lurched at lying to my mother.
She paused for a second, before asking, “How’s the baby?”
I actually had to look around because I’d forgotten where the baby was. Maggie was sleeping at the time in the crib by my bed. “She’s sleep.”
My mother paused again. “How are you?”
Now, I should warn you my mother is no idiot. Matter of fact, I think this woman has some type of special mental abilities better than Professor X to pull what’s in your brain out and plant whatever she wants to in.
I knew when she asked that question again, she was not crazy or she had not forgotten she had asked me this before.
“Ma, I’m fine really,” I tried to lie again, but this time my voice cracked a little at the end.
“Do you need something?”
Taking a deep breath, unable to lie anymore, I said, “I wish you were here.”
“Well,” she said. I could hear her moving around as she continued, “I think I can be there in a couple of days. Can you wait that long?”
Tears filled my eyes and ran down my cheek, because I needed my momma so bad.
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