Mother Safira comes to wake us up by the morning’s arrival. Mom is still clutching me in her arms, and I’m stiff from lying in the same position for too long. I am somewhat rested, if not entirely. I drifted off for a few minutes here and there. Mom looks better, but her eyes are still lined with worry.
Mother Safira speaks softly to Mom while I try to stretch. It takes some time before Mother Safira coaxes Mom to let me go. I get the freedom to stretch properly as they leave for the bathroom. Mother Safira will help Mom with her bath and prepare for the day. I want to fall back to sleep but get up to bathe, too.
I request not to be helped in the tub, which is usually accepted and gives me the space I need. Some days, however, they can’t respect my wishes. When I am halfway through my ba
