There hasn't really been an "us" for the first two years. There has always been, on the contrary, a clear, strong, self-affirmative "her". Even before she was born: her legs kicking all over my tummy, her jumps of fear when I would place my hands under that noisy automatic hand-dryer she didn't like. Her hiccups, rhythmic like a gentle tennis match, her disappointment when I would sleep on the side she didn't want me to.
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