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It was a nourishing environment, they said. ABC's and 1-2-3's, new friends, healthy snacks, caring adults watching our baby's every move.
I always loved hoodies. Big sweaters that engulfed my body in their warm hug or even just a zip-up jacket, as long as it had a hood. Flip it up and hide from the world. It wasn't about body image. I just felt safe, like I carried my own little private room around me. A comfy suit of armor.
The coin flipped over and over above our heads. Our eyes watched it descend in slow motion until it landed with a clank on the floor. We held our breath, eyes turned down now. I squinted, afraid of the answer. My brother called it: "Heads!"
Terrible Twos is a bit of a myth. Really, it lasts all through toddler-hood. That temper that is triggered by one simple word, one syllable: No.
The trunk couldn't fit another body. The rest would have to be burned right where they were, the smell allowed to seep beneath the cracks of the doors and windows. Even at this stage I refused to drive around with a dead person propped up in the passenger seat, so we were officially out of room in the car.