Desired Sacrafices

When the storm hovered over our little house around nine o'clock this evening we decided to go to bed. Chup with his flashlights and me in my swamp-cooler whipped hair. We opened the window and invited the storm in to our tiny bedroom.

The lightening!

The thundering!

The stillness.

And I was left wondering again, in the dark, quiet night.

What would I give up for motherhood, if I had to make a trade?

A night like this?

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