“She called me right after you were born. She said you were so pretty it hurt her eyes to look at you.” Something about this caused my own eyes to sting like sand had flown into them. Maybe my mother had cooed over me after all. Made embarrassing baby talk. Twirled my newborn hair like the top of an ice cream cone. Done it up with pink bows. Just because she didn’t plan on having me didn’t mean she hadn’t loved me.
