My attachment is so fierce, it takes my breath away.
By Judy Rader
Allison is suddenly upon me like a sunburst, hurling herself into my lap, throwing her arms around my neck. “My mommy,” she says to no one in particular. Before I can return her hug, she is off again, racing to the slide in a blur of swinging limbs and pigtails.
Along with the usual rush of love, gratitude, and exquisite pleasure that such a scene evokes in me, I feel a tug, a gnawing worry in my gut. Allison has just turned three years old—that age when kids suddenly know everything, the age when they’re putting it all together, the age, so I’m told, that she might ask if she grew in my tummy…