Picture it… Picture it. Sicily. 1923. Okay, so it wasn’t really Sicily. It wasn’t 1923. And my name isn’t Sophia. But it was the first time my child had to struggle for her* life. Go ahead and picture it. A hospital room. The Labor and Delivery wing. Sometime this millennium. I was in active labor. The cute little “keep-breathing-through-it” part had ended, and the screeching pain of pushing was in full effect. It took a while, but she finally entered the world. My job was done…or was it? Waiting for her to cry I’ve had multiple children, so I knew what came next. I closed my eyes to rest and…
I talked to a dear friend the other day about her son. Her precious boy has a genetic disorder. The more we talked, the more I realized one simple truth: our lives are remarkably similar.