My children take melatonin. Every. Single. Night. We refer to their nightly doses as their “meds.” As in, “Are you ready to brush your teeth, or do you still need your meds?”
I have always loved The Velveteen Rabbit, to the point where I decorated my baby’s nursery with illustrations from a paperback version I bought expressly for tearing it apart.
I was seven when it happened; roughly the same age as my kids are now. I got lost at the zoo. And I’m still traumatized by it.
I slid into a tube, on my knees, draped over a barrel. With my head tucked in, arms stretched ahead Super Girl style, my hooters hung out like socks on a clothesline.