To our baby inside me

Dear Baby Willey,

Currently, you’ve been in my tummy for 18 weeks. My app says you’re as big as a sweet potato, about 5.5 inches and 5 ounces. Another app says you’re the size of a croissant, and I’m imagining how your little face is reacting to the size references these pregnancy apps are giving me. Is your balled fist raising to celebrate the comparison or are you indignantly pouting, as I would, to false assumptions?

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Really, we’re pregnant?

We were biking along the streets of Luang Prabang, Laos. It was a December morning and another particularly chilly day (for my tropical standards). The streets were quiet—almost meditative. We stopped at a neighborhood pharmacy, parked our vintage Japanese bikes on the curb, and navigated our way into asking the middle-aged Laotian proprietress for a pregnancy test kit.

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Our vintage Japanese bikes in Luang Prabang, Laos which we used (with compliments from the hotel) to go around the small lovely town.

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Hearts and bellies full in Tuscany

We were seated on a long table out in the garden, an exquisite vintage blue and white ceramic plate across from each of us, and the sun straining through a half-arch vine of greens above us.

From where my husband and I were seated, we could see the hill-like garden of Villa Galleotti, sprinkled neatly with patches of pomodoro, basilico (basil), oliva (olives), and more.

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This is how millennials are changing the world

Millennials (born from 1980 to 2000) have acquired a bad name.

I am not alone in shunning this category to the point of disowning it. Insisting that I’m way older than my age, I pushed back from this purportedly lazy and entitled generation.

Some realizations hit me as of late.

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