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Each one has taught me more than I passed along to them. After finally realizing my dream of becoming a mother, I found what most new parents find—along with the bliss come days filled with crying, spit-up, and leaking diapers.
But when I dared to vent, I was chided: “You wanted to adopt…you asked for this!
I don't look it, but I am beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. I need a change, or something.” ― “I should be happy, but instead I feel nothing. I've cried a few times, but mostly I'm empty, as if whatever makes me feel and hurt and laugh and love has been surgically removed, leaving me hollowed out like a shell.” ― “His tunic was unbuttoned at the top, and he ran a hand through his blue-black hair before he wordlessly slumped against the wall across from me and slid to the floor."What do you want? "He massaged his pale skin, making the corners of his eyes go up and down, out and in. "From this mess."I sat up farther on my pallet of the hay. Make coffee, windows open, the sun shining through. Keep your mind sharp, head on, eyes on the page and if small thoughts of worries fight their ways into your consciousness: threw them off like fires in the night and keep your eyes on the track. Notice how they’re all walking, in a hurry, or slowly. Find comfort in the way you’re just one in the crowd.
" I demanded."A moment of peace and quiet," he snapped, rubbing his temples. I'd never seen him so candid."That damned bitch is running me ragged," he went on, and dropped his hands from his temples to lean his head against the wall. Imagine how you'd feel if I made you serve in my bedroom. Hold the cup with two hands and notice that you feel the feeling of warmth. Smiling, laughing, or eyes straight forward, hurried to get to wherever they’re going.
She had arrived at her destination, and she had everything she'd worked so hard for: a stunning career, a loving (well, sort of) husband, whom she respected, and a beautiful eleven-year-old daughter whom she adored.
And then, one morning, time had caught up with her and she had woken up and realized that she was there. When I adopted my two sons eight years ago, they couldn’t separate themselves fast enough from their “old” life in Brazil.As I prepared to visit my oldest son two months into his “new” college life—a lifetime for any freshman—I wondered to what extent he might have compartmentalized his now “old” family life.Under the World Health Organization’s previous definition, infertility was failure to achieve pregnancy after 12 months or more of regular unprotected sexual intercourse. "We are preparing for our first overnight visit with sisters we hope to adopt from foster care, and are nervous.What are we supposed to do for 24 hours with two children who are essentially strangers?” Adoption kismet paired my moody, socially awkward self with an upbeat, sociable son who volunteers to wear his school mascot costume, runs for student council, and is unfazed by the thought of speaking in front of his whole school. My older son is off at college, and I’ve been heartened to see that his “new normal” includes a maturing and strengthening of the bond between us.I look back to the day I met him, just over eight years ago, and our years of attachment struggles, even as I look to his future, and ours, with hope.I'm High Lord of the Night Court - not her harlot."So the slurs were true. "Because I'm tired and lonely, and you're the only person I can talk to without putting myself at risk." He let out a low laugh. "One wrong move tomorrow, Freyre, and we're all doomed.” ― “I must be overtired', Buttercup managed. And I could imagine very easily how much I would hate him - what it would do to me - to be enslaved to someone like that. "How absurd: a High Lord of Prythian and a - ""You can leave if you're just going to insult me.""But I'm so good at it". 'The excitement and all.''Rest then', her mother cautioned. I was overtired the night your father proposed.” ― “Take a shower. These feelings were shocking to her, because she'd never experienced world-weariness before. All her life, she'd been striving and striving to become this thing that was herself--the entity that was Nico O'Neilly. She bursts into angry tears, asking if it's because she's getting older. She's aging more noticeably every day—while I am standing still. Meanwhile, time was marching on, and all that was happening to her was that she was getting older and smaller, and one day she would be no bigger than a dot, and then she would simply disappear. Like a small leaf burned up under a magnifying glass in the sun.