“I just wanted one second to myself on the toilet,” my mother says, laughing and remembering. “And then I’d see these little fingers wiggling underneath the door, tiny voices asking me if I was going Number One or Number Two.” Motherhood is indeed glamorous. Those were my and my brother’s fingers that my mother recounted ― fingers desperately needing her at all moments of the day, needing to know what she was doing when she wasn’t with us, needing to know why she was away from us for just one