A child was born

Thirty years ago, and with a snap of the fingers, signifying nothing and everything, here we are now. Is this milestone going to be sadder for my parents than it is for me?

But truth be told, I was more concerned and dreading this day a year ago than I am today. You see, I’ve been through a rainstorm of blessings, after a decade of relative drought, in this time that I’ve been away from much of my younger self. The room in which I needed to grow turned out to be a sea shanty away from a devoted family.

Some people lose their puppy fat in adulthood; I’ve lost quite a chunk of the fat in my head — the aching lonesomeness of the early 20s, the wrenching aimlessness of the mid 20s, and the creaky chrysalidness of the late 20s.

So here I am. Here I am! A still-forming woman of a little style, some substance and a whole lotta gratitude. Hoping to retain much of the child-like. Knowing to set aside more of the childish. Revelling in the revelation that I am — and you are — not alone in this journey.

So be it — amen!

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