This essay also includes my secret shame. At least one of them.
Why I try to watch the “c” word when describing women.
The nice things I’ve done for my baby that could also possibly kill her.
I guess I have a habit of not really thinking too far ahead of things. But I just couldn’t picture the human being inside me.
“WHERE IS MY BABY? WHERE IS JACKSON?!” She yelled.
Let’s just say that on Yoga Pant Saturdays, I don’t have such a hard time leaving the apartment.