Lisa Eirene

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The doctor leaned forward and put her hand on my arm. “The best mother is a happy mother,” she said. “Give that baby a bottle.” Overnight my baby stopped crying, surfeited for the first time in his hungry life. He would drop off to sleep, his whole body at ease, arms and legs as limp as a rag doll’s. He slept and slept.
Late Migrations: A Natural History of Love and Loss
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