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And a Cat Coverlet
Phoebe's eyes match my green sweater perfectly. She is draped on my lap like the snow's draped on the tree-branches outside my window.
When I see her little face looking up at me, as it has been doing these past several minutes, I understand motherhood a little bit.
"I'm going to have a son," a 15-year-old declared yesterday when I asked her whether she thought she might want to have children someday. "When I'm good and ready," she said, "Boys are less work than girls."