The little lines appeared on the stick in January.
I think hers did too, just twenty years prior.
::
She, my first daughter, was born in September. A week to the day before my twenty-first birthday. A week to the day before the twenty-one year anniversary of the day I met the woman who birthed me. And my parents.
At the same time.
{I'm over at The Mudroom today discussing my adoption, fitting for the day after my 25th birthday. I hope you'll join me there for the rest of the story.}