The Pink Toothpick
| December 5, 2023It’s never been a race for me, and numbers just weren’t a thing. But now, in my fragile state, it all seems different
MYstory starts last summer.
I plan for its events for the majority of the year, and then a fiasco turns the whole thing upside down. It’s a blow to me, a blow to my family, and a blow to my business.
I spend the next few months reeling from it, processing it. Slowly, very slowly. Agonizingly slowly. All with my toddler underfoot. My toddler, who makes me laugh and smile like no other toddler ever has, because he joined our family after six-and-a-half years of davening. He’s an answer to our tefillos, and he brings me endless joy.
In this post-summer darkness, I start to wonder when the next child will arrive. I don’t want to go there, but I worry and wonder if there will be a similar wait.
I start to notice that everyone in my life is expecting. Every sister, cousin, and friend. My two closest friends share that they’re each pregnant, and with their seventh child.
When it comes to bringing children into the world, it’s never been a race for me, and numbers just weren’t a thing. But now, in my fragile state, it all seems different.
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