My BABY of all my babies is 11. How is that possible? And, then, I think to myself – I do that a lot . . . I turn 46 this year and my mom is still living her life and not clinging to me and weeping every June when my birthday rolls around. But, really, 11? That’s stranger to me than Danny turning 18 this past September.
And we roll on . . .four more inches and I will be the shortest person in the house.