I don’t have kids. I likely won’t have kids. Well, I won’t have my own children. I have plenty of “kids” who filled this heart space to spilling over. But birthing my own? Nope, too old for that. Some days I get sad and other days, especially when traveling next to a two year old on a plane, or sitting in a booth with an un-disciplined 5-year-old behind me poking my head with chicken nugget flakes on her fingers, I do a small cheer. And furthermore, even if I were to committe

“Wait until you get older, time will fly by,” I recall being told by all the adults. I entered the fourth decade of life a few years ago. Gray hairs started to weasel their way into view, early-to-bed Friday nights became the norm, I began wearing readers…It seems a few days ago I was sitting in American Literature dreaming of my future and thankful to finally drive myself to school. 2019 came galloping toward me like a stallion over the hill, inevitably finding its way over