The first time it was a pregnancy, I remember it was as vivid as morning sickness itself.
The second time the girl was 7 or 8, and gazed at me calmly, like waiting. She had black straight hair, and a nose shape that later on I came to understand whose it was.
This third time, the kid was just a baby, maybe one year old. Same nose, same eyes, brown, downy hair. Gestures that echo those of the owner of the original nose shape. And a round, elfish face.
It's an odd day, an odd time, to be attacked by motherhood blues. It will go away.
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