It’s Saturday. I have arranged for my daughter to have a friend over. By text, Chloe’s mom and I have agreed that Chloe will come to our house at 1:00 pm.
You don’t hear people speak openly about their lack of desire to breastfeed. They don’t want to risk the inevitable fire and brimstone that will befall them.
As we heard my name called from the podium, my mom and I shared a look across the crowded middle-school auditorium. I’d won an art award, and it was hilarious.
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