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  • My 13-year-old just ran in and out the front door - a quick stop to pick up her guitar for tonight's lesson. Her dad waits for her in his car.

    The Parenting Plan is liberal. As custodial parent, they are with me the lion's share of the time. Still, as much as these five, post-divorce years have offered me the luxurious gift of time to myself, there are days when the awareness of her leaving (again) prompts a tug within.

    Contractions. I can still remember that feeling.

    My heart aches. Tears brim, just behind my eyes. I give myself a talking-to. "She'll be home in an hour."

    Then, I breathe. Deep inhales. Long exhales.

    This is the child I conceived and carried and labored and bled to bring forth. It's not all that surprising that contractions continue. Just like before, they remind me she is here, present, undeniable, and bound to me in ways mysterious, un-severable, enduring.
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