You wait and wait and wait and then you get the call at 3am and though something’s finally happening, you wait some more.

I try to think about this like the kid I used to be would, but that’s not quite right because kids are different from each other.

I was different from the rest, at least. But that only made me just like everyone else.

It’s unbearable and then it’s over and you think you could’ve stood it a little longer because at least you were used to what it felt like, you were figuring out ways to cope – you became bearlike to bear it, subsisting on berries and honey, growling at every turn, insisting that the same two books about a bear be read to you in an endless  rotation.

I’m an aunt all over again and so thankful to be. It just keeps getting better.

I don’t know what I thought it would be like but it is beyond anything I ever could have dreamed up.

Therein lies the only slight potential of anything approaching the dimensions of what could be termed a problem, I suppose.