I am at my Nanna’s and I am four years old.
My grandmother is a comfortable and loving presence. Other people are there, but they exist in my memory as shadows. Logically, I know who they are, but I cannot see them.
We are waiting.
My younger sister is with me. She is two and torments me. (Now, this is a joke among us, how she used to pick on me.) My parents are not there.
I can feel excitement and anticipation and a little uncertainty. We are in the kitchen, linoleum floor and metal table and wood cabinets lining the walls. The shadows are there, too. It is the gathering place in my Nanna and Pappy’s house.
The door opens and I am there, waiting. My father comes in.
“It’s a girl,” he says proudly.
I am happy.