Random Mom Day
4:30 am. Just another day. She wakes up, eyes batting at a slow pace, each eyelid moving as if they’re weighed down. Sleep still fills her head, unsure if she’s seeing the fan slowly spin above her, or if she’s still in the Dominican Republic, sipping on a frozen cocktail as two men fan her, moving as one person. She wishes it were the latter, but she appreciates the dullness of her bedroom ceiling fan. The stifled breathing of her husband becomes apparent, nothing longer soothing, but aiding on her journey back from Santo Domingo. She grabs her thick robe, routine activated, and she’s out the door, stepping over the hole of carpet that the dog chewed up days before. It’s become a part of her morning steps. She hopes it’s addressed soon. # Ow. Her dark skin singes as she yanks away her curling iron. I just had to change it up today. There’s no real reason for it. She wonders if she even really likes her hair in curls, but coming to