P!nk gets me. Whenever I feel edgy, I play her songs in my home. Currently, to coincide with my musings on past loves and wants, it’s “True Love.”
Whatever happens, even if I can’t afford to adopt a kid, I’m happy with experiencing the childhood of my nephew, who is a hilariously goofy little boy. Who deliberately yawns at the dinner table to spark a mass outbreak of yawns amongst his fellow diners. Who recently learned the “f— you” symbol as the British serve it up, a “victory” sign with an upward emphasis — he tops it off by blowing a raspberry. Who dives multiple cannonballs off our diving board into the pool. Who claims that he doesn’t need the “wiseness” of a fortune cookie, that it’s not the Ten Commandments.
All of my love for a child of my own already goes to my nephew.