My losses, smooth cold marbles now, edges worn off with time spent bumping against each other.
My daughter's words, a hundred and three, she combines them. No bye bye. Ny ny mommy. Mommy sounds like ma-mae because she stretches her mouth too wide with the exaggeration and caution of someone still learning.
Probably because she's still learning.
I have the audacity to count my tragedies even as the blessings pile up around my ankles.
I count.