Alice got her first piece of officialish mail not too long after she came home. It was her health insurance card. Not very exciting, but in its way, momentous, affirming so concretely, if mundanely, the reality of this little person. She is a real little person. That is her name. This is her address. She lives. Here.
Someone who has existed in the world so briefly is nontheless a part of it so wholly.
And it felt like a milestone the first time I signed her name with ours on a gift card.
Being a bit of a Census freak, I am sheepish to admit that our form is just now being filled out. (Census Day is April 1, guys!)
Our instructions are to “count all people, including babies, who live and sleep here most of the time.”
So I count the baby.
Then we come to the race/ethnicity questions. Always a little debateable, no? I’m going with a “Yes,” for me on Latino origin.
And, I think, Alice too.
About David. Turns out? Could be, could be …