
Period. Paragraph. Talking about reproduction at 45 mph
Little Son, Bodacious and I were barreling down the road last week, headed to one of our last soccer practices for the season. It had been an uneventful drive so far, and I was looking forward to a little siesta in the evening sun. “Mom,” Little Son said from the backseat. “Can I ask you a question?” “Sure!” I answered confidently. I could see our turn into the soccer fields rapidly approaching, and my little travel pillow was softly calling my name. I had already ruined the