I am one of those children of divorce who grew up only to get divorced myself. It is the typical sad story. But then why am I so happy? My parents divorced when I was five. I don’t recall much, other than a hazy impression of my mother arguing with my father while...
It was Day Eight of being home with our newborn. I sat on my colorful, checkered chair under the big window in our apartment. I wore a black nursing tank top that was wet with breast milk, a girdle-like belly wrap, high-waisted maternity leggings, and bare feet. My...
