Joe is going to be ONE YEAR OLD TOMORROW, and then two, and then three, and then seventeen, and then thirty-four, and then forty-seven, and Oh My God, Come back. I’m filled with reflection: what a miracle he is, how fast he’s grown, what we’ve endured, all we have to celebrate. But most of all, I feel like on our birthdays, before throwing ourselves parties or obsessing over how we will Treat ourselves or lamenting the passage of time, we should first CALL OUR MOTHERS, if we are lucky enough to still be able to get them on the phone, and thank them for keeping us alive when we were so small the light hurt our eyes, when the world was big and loud and cold, when we knew Nothing.
