When the nurse told me she saw boy “parts” on the ultrasound screen, a little part of me died. Not in a bad way. It was more of a realization that the old life, the only one I had known, was going to be be different, but this foreign life would be my new way of life.
I have this cute child. He's eight now. And tall for his age. And very much like my first born with his perfectionist tendencies.
Waiting to be plucked, or left alone, the oranges
shrivel and fade, because
new life is on the horizon.