Tonight My Daughter Will Celebrate Her First Passover

As I’m writing this, I’m sitting in my car outside my daughter’s day care. No worries, there’s no crying here, no major trauma. I’m trying to check things off my list while waiting for the start of “El dia de Primavera,” a celebration of the first day of spring.

Three months ago, after 36 hours of induction, 22 hours of labor, two hours of pushing and minutes of surgery I met my daughter – and my whole world turned over. I know it’s a cliché, but it is really true that motherhood changes things. But I guess we have clichés for a reason; they are so often true.

Tonight, we will celebrate her first Passover. She won’t taste this year’s menu – the latest selection from my father’s exploration of the global Jewish culinary traditions. She won’t remember the songs or be able to search for the afikomin. Odds are she won’t be awake past the second cup of wine.


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