Sometimes I feel like I fell asleep at 28 and woke up at 35. Some of the last things I remember about my old life: my parents came to visit us, we went on vacation to Turkey (my last appearance topless in public that didn’t involve a doctor or breastfeeding), we started to look for an apartment to buy and we went to the doctor to make sure everything was ok with us so that we could start trying to get pregnant. Then I got sick. Incorrect diagnoses and shot-in-the dark treatments lasted almost 2 years. After a proper diagnosis, real treatment lasted another two. Then I had to be weaned from the meds and totally detox myself at the very end of treatment. After receiving a clean bill of health from my doctor(s), we started trying again. It didn’t quite work the first time so after one failed pregnancy, we tried again. It worked and 9 months later we had a Lizzie. When Lizzie was one year old, we were pregnant with Rosie. In the meantime, we bought that apartment and also a housek (house + domek = housek). We haven’t been on vacation anywhere and my parents have not visited again. And here I am, 35 years old and I can’t remember how I got here or who I am.