The Mother in Me

By Cindy Fey '87

Like other thumb-sucking preschoolers with braces in their future, my 4-year-old daughter, Mia, struggles to be understood. She points out the car window and yells emphatically, “That’s you! That’s you!” At least I think that’s what she’s yelling. What’s me?

Mia is practically panting, struggling against the straps of her car seat. “Dat chew!” What? Her baby sister, Eleanor, looks at Mia blankly from the other car seat. I spot a piece of public art through the windshield. Breakthrough!…

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