She’s six months, and a bit fussier than normal, and she keeps leaning her head against her shoulder, pulling on her ear, and I wonder, is she teething? She’s ten, just home from school in a MOOD, doesn’t want to help make dinner, just wants to lie down, she doesn’t have a temperature but just seems Off. Maybe she’s teething, I tell her Dad. She’s fifteen and hasn’t left her room in two days, she says nothing’s wrong but I can tell it’s something. She doesn’t want to talk to me, and she used to tell me everything, maybe it’s her teeth. She’s twenty-three and hasn’t returned any of my texts in two weeks, she’s posting pictures so I know she’s okay, is she mad at me or just living her life, or teething? She’s thirty-seven and shows up with a suitcase and a broken heart, she wants her Mom. I bring her in and hold her, she cries but won’t say why, it’s probably everything. I tell her it’s okay to not know Why, sometimes we don’t quite know. I rock her, and slide a knuckle into her mouth.

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