“If I could spend ten good minutes with him every two hours, that’d be ideal,” I say to Danielle over drinks one night. “You know, when they’re really small. And you just…look at them. And there’s nothing to do. And you know you’re supposed to talk to them but it feels insane. And you just, like, boop them with toys on the nose, like they’re dogs…boop.” I feel a wave of longing when I say this stupid word: boop. It was part of my baby language, always would be. I remember his laughter, his stillness, staring back up at me, how his eyes would flash at me a certain way and I’d be convinced we
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