My firstborn was a seven pound preemie. He was born at 35 ½ weeks, so he just barely qualified for the moniker. I only use it in air quotes, out of respect for the mothers of what I call real preemies.Read More
When I was little I would lean out the window of our second floor Mexico City home and sing to the stars. I would make up my little melodies as the evening lingered on with my little brother joining me in my serenade to the “little lights up in the sky.”Read More
Standing in front of the woman who ran the camp, I was ashamed. “Sorry,” I said, weeping too hard to stop.
“You caved,” one of my eleven-year old bunkmates hissed as we left her office.
“Jellyfish spine,” another said.Read More