Somehow it seems fitting to start the new year in anonymity. It’s like popping out of the uterus and even if the parental units have had your tag picked out for months, for a few minutes logic shuts down. They forget which grandmother's middle name you're supposed to get, trying to comprehend that this little life in their hands was the beach ball for 9 months, and all they can say is Oh! She’s so tiny! Our baby! There’s nothing on paper quite yet, no history, no band slapped around the wrist. It is all new, perfect, pristine with a screwed up little face, and Mom & Dad look at each other through tears and sweat over the blankets, and one of them whispers, This one could be president.
It could happen.
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Leave it at the beep.