Andrew J. Lederer's BRAND NEW LIFE

She didn’t look like herself. She was, if visually related to what I expected, a chipmunk-cheeked, brownstone Brooklyn, maternal version of my rear-view expectation, brandishing a look that worked on its own terms and which I found attractive when I tried to figure out who she was.

But it didn’t quite work as her. 

Would have loved the look if I’d been part of the transition, though. Chubby-cheeked mother of my child and partner in domestic life. The very definition of beauty.

Okay, I kind of even liked it now.

Still, while she beamed mommy joy ’round eye-obscuring glasses, the temporal inconsistency — dare  I say diminution? — of her looks gave me something to hang onto as I moved into my day.

Until her devil child decided to flash big toddler eyes at me and hurl enthusiastic, world-embracing goodbyes my way as I vanished into later.

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