K and I woke about the time we arrived at the hospital ten years ago.
We were eating breakfast at the time I was filling out paperwork and K was wearily filling in her midwife on the progress thus far.
By the time the kids were up, K was in the huge tub preparing for a water delivery.
When L was opening her present, she was still almost an hour away from delivery. By the time E was licking the maple syrup off his plate after a birthday breakfast of French toast, L was getting closer but still not there.
By the time my students were partaking in their improvised opłatek celebration, K was holding a clean and fragrant little girl who had already taken over our lives entirely.
By the time our neighbor Santa arrived, Nana and Papa had already arrived and been reveling for some time in their new status as Nana and Papa.
Ten years and everyone around us, except for L, wonders how the time disappeared so quickly. Hasn’t L always been this tall? Hasn’t E always been tagging along behind her?