esmé broke a bit on saturday afternoon. she's fine. she's fine. she's fine.
uncle sugar diagnosed her as such straight away. kar, she's fine. i took her to emergency anyway.
i didn't believe him. we grew up in very different childhoods. mine was allergy shots and inside and maybe one or two scraped knees. his was rather bloody. he had a cauliflower ear operation, and his mom had him back at school before lunch. i'd have a cold, and my mom would keep me home for a week and a half. my sister used to sing me to sleep. away in a manger, even in june. uncle sugar's brother peeped on him in the shower.
but, in the end, he was right. she is fine.
those girlies three, though. man, they are glued together. lillie and grae couldn't breathe until esmé came back to them.
when the emergency doctor left the room, esmé looked at me with relieved, sleepy little blues and her scratched up, swollen up little bug nose.
good thing i'm not bwoke. she said. lillie and gracie would kill me if i bwoke.
close. but not quite. esmé? they would die if you bwoke.