She wrapped her tiny hand around my finger, drinking greedily from the bottle. Only the sound of the ceiling fan could be heard above her small sighs, and my whispered words. She's not mine. I'm her "day mommy" as her real mommy says. But I do love her. And as I held her close to me I felt her drift off to sleep, safe in my arms. The sun disappeared behind huge, dark clouds. Rain fell noisily on the deck. I could feel that pull, that tug on my heart... i can't wait to have one of my own. And then...
she farted, laughed, and threw up all over my shirt.
2 comments:
Just wait until she's a teenager, it'll be worse than a fart and a little vomit.
Oh dear. I'm not sure I'll be able to handle that!
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