Don't We Look Alike?

by Lennie Magida

Two loaves of bread and a stick of butter. Or a bottle of sunscreen, a beach towel, your phone and something to read.

You could carry them for hours, couldn’t you?  They wouldn’t weigh you down, they wouldn’t feel burdensome.

You wouldn’t feel as though you were lugging a baby around all day.

But when my daughter, Nina, was born in 1987, she weighed two pounds, five ounces. Like bread and butter. Like an easy day at the beach.

She was born seven weeks early and a continent away from us. We were going through an adoption process, not a pregnancy—at least not mine. We knew who the birth mother was, but we were in Baltimore, and she was in Los Angeles. We hadn’t met her. We wouldn’t be meeting her.

We’d thought of names and tried to imagine how a baby was going to change our…

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