The other night I was telling J how much I love him, and that I don't know how I got so lucky as to have such a nice boy. "You got me because you wished for me, and G-d gave me to you, like a present," he said.

Indeed, very like a present. Sometimes I wonder if I have any right to wish for more. Other times I feel absolutely obligated to wish for more, because it seems awfully unfair to pin all my happiness on J. That's a lot of responsibility for a little boy.

Also, J is eventually going to grow up and leave me. So, yay, I'll be a fifty-something single woman in a rental apartment. How dreamy. I wonder how well scrapbooking and a tedious dead-end job are going to sustain me when that happens.

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