[Morning cup, Casablanca, Morocco, 2015.]
About two years ago around this time I was in the home stretch of writing my book and had a little tumbler in my belly reminding me of her presence with every turn and flick of her very tiny toes. We were moving to North Africa in a few short months and when I had time to think about it I was filled with a nervous mix of trepidation and excitement. Flash forward to today, when we woke up earlier than usual, dined on granola and yogurt and banana chunks, and went out to stroll the neighborhood, me with my much-needed coffee in hand. My little tumbler is now a sturdy walker who gets her hands dirty at every opportunity (much to the chagrin of the neighbors/maids/nannies but I’m not anti-grit by any means) and says a cheerful ‘hi’ to all who cross her path. Our time in North Africa is rapidly coming to a close, just in time for me to actually accept that woah, we’re living in Africa. I never would have anticipated that occurrence a decade ago.