Perspective: “I’m a pediatrician. I unexpectedly became a foster mom to a patient.”
Her mother, Janine, my foster daughter, tried to peel the child’s limbs from mine, her two legs tighter than a stink bug on a stick.Joli nestled her head into my neck, thumb in mouth. I pulled Janine closer with my other hand, kissing her mop of curls.
Janine still has her struggles with food, but she can now go to restaurants with friends and she can snack without obsessing about portions and calories. She read this piece and gave me her blessing to publish it. Five years ago, she would have fled the kitchen in tears if I had asked her to measure out six tablespoons of olive oil. Now we work together at the counter, chopping vegetables side by side. Joli helps too, sprinkling the cheese on our rolled-out pizza dough, fresh flour smudged on her nose.We stayed by her side through her pregnancy, too. I coached her through her breathing exercises in the labor suite. I walked the halls with her, stopping for each contraction, rubbing her back.