. . . and it was the hardest I’ve ever had to keep.
But we needed time to laugh. Ponder. Freak out — in a good way. To hug each other and daydream and think, think, think.
But I’m ready now. And it’s time to shout it from the virtual rooftops, if you will.
The ones adorned with everything sparkly and light and uncertain.
In a way, the story starts with a fortune cookie.
Until recently, I didn’t pay much attention to babies. I prefer the fat-fisted 3-year-olds with their coloring books and crayons, their funny voices and elaborate stories, their wide-eyed innocence and crazy tantrums and little shoes. When friends’ children reach toddler-age, I’m in my element — suddenly beloved friend or makeshift “aunt,” even if only for the length of a party.
But everything changes, of course.
Sometime in mid-September, I began to feel “off.” Though physically I…
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