I’m with Grace and Regan at a small white table that is adorned with pink flowers. Sitting on the tiny chair, I have to practically kneel to get my legs to fit under the table. Grace is across from me but doesn’t even attempt to get her legs beneath the table. She leans back against the chair, her yoga pant–covered legs spread out to the sides in an unladylike fashion while her enormous belly rests on her thighs. She looks extremely uncomfortable, and I hope for her sake that my nephew comes sooner than later. He’s due tomorrow, October 30, but Regan was nine days late. So, who knows if this little one is going to decide to be late as well?
“Dwink yo tea!” Regan’s adorable high-pitched voice urges. She has the standard pronunciation that a lot of three-year-olds have.
A memory of my Grac
