There is something extraordinarily heartening -- not to mention refreshing -- about seeing people venerate age in our youth-obsessed culture.
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Despite all of the hard work, the stinky, slimy, exhausted-ness of having a baby, there are times when I miss it so much it's as if something is pulling on my uterus, some external force telling me I NEED a baby.
My daughter turns 10 this week. I'm swimming in a sea of memories of this week ten whole years ago, a week that commenced a season that changed everything for me.
I remember noticing my son's shoelace -- a little too long -- and telling myself that I needed to retie it so he didn't trip. Then I blinked. That little boy just took his last college exam.
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