My first baby is two years old, arms draped around my neck, cheek pressed into my chest. The scent of his musky head is inebriating. I read him a book called Baby Mickey’s Nap. He is convinced that if Mickey naps, he should too. We are still inchoate; neither of us know it, but we […] Continue reading at 'Literrary Hub'
[ Literrary Hub | 2019-12-19 09:47:36 UTC ]