In a torrent of tears, I slip off both boots.
Each a child's size 9 with purple polka dots,
and each on the wrong foot.
A deluge of emotion
probably caused by an unwanted surge of hormones
(if not the lint that was generously added to my coffee by chubby fingers)
is the reason for this wet and salty overflow.
Methodically I help wrangle the proper foot into each boot,
then gently pull down a denim pant leg over the top.
Tenderly my daughter asks
"Are you okay now mom?"
And through the blur I answer
"Yes. I'll be okay.
I love you guys very much. And I love being your momma...
...but sometimes it makes me dizzy."