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  • You spent your first day on this planet locked up in a plastic bin. It was a precaution that I resented. I, your mother, who knew that my arms would embrace you better, that my body would warm you the best, that my milk would nourish you and give you the strength to battle whatever the doctor was afraid of. The hormones that raced through me after your delivery made me feel weepy but this is Japan and we don't cry here. We ganbarou (keep trying), we gaman (remain patient). We don't cry when we can't hold our baby. So instead I kept watch over you from outside the window, driving the nurses crazy because they wanted me to stay in bed, to maintain the careful order they arranged. And soon you were released to my care and all my frustration melted away. I wish your first day had been sweeter but since they opened the incubator, you have rarely left my arms. Your father gets a little frustrated by your cries that pierce the air every time he holds you for more than three minutes. I know what you are about though, making up for that first day of heart-wrenching separation. And you know, my little Luca, I am absolutely fine with being your slave, your bed and pillow, your mother.
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