Paris, France—When I was six years old, I walked into a cafe in the Paris suburb of Rennes, and there I saw a young girl with a giant blue umbrella.
She was holding a white baby with a red-and-black pattern.
“You can’t see it in the pictures, but I think it’s a child,” I told my father, after she walked out of the cafe with the baby in her arms.
“It’s a little girl.”
When I turned eight, I spent three days visiting her family in an abandoned school in the district of Roussillon, near the city’s southern edge.
The place was full of children, some as young as nine, playing on the playground.
The walls of the school were lined with bookshelves full of toys, and one of them was a small baby doll that had a blue ribbon around its neck.
It was my first experience with children.
At the age of four, I was the only one in the school to have her name, and she had no parents.
The next year, my father told me to come home, and he and my mother would go out and play with her.
“She loves toys, she likes to play, she’s always laughing,” my mother told me, as we drove out to her sister’s house.
My mother would later tell me that I had been her “first baby.”
As a child, I loved to take pictures and watch cartoons, and then I would take them to my father’s bedroom, where he would take a picture and send it to me.
My parents didn’t have any money, so I would watch him, playing with the camera.
It wasn’t until I was in my teens that I realized that there were some really amazing things that my parents did for their children.
They made sure that they had everything they needed to survive, and my parents paid their rent.
They bought food and clothing and other essentials, and they bought me a bicycle and a set of clothes, which they had brought from Paris, when I was five.
My father didn’t know about the bicycle, but the clothes I was wearing fit me perfectly, so when my mother was about to be born, she was told to go to the hospital.
“I was scared because she was only a month old, and all my clothes were all washed,” I later said to my mother.
But my mother reassured me.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be okay,” she said.
“My baby is beautiful, you know, it’s not too big.”
After I got my first child, my mother went to the doctor and had an operation to remove her appendix.
My older brother and I were also sent to the same hospital, and after a while, I asked my mother, “What’s wrong with me?
I’m a little baby.”
She answered, “I’m a very healthy little girl, and we’re going to have a baby soon.”
She was right.
Two years later, when my sister was five months old, we were sent to a clinic where my father had been told to have the baby’s appendix removed.
At first, the doctor told us to sit in a chair, and at the end of the procedure, he removed the appendix from my sister.
My sister was born a week later.
As my father went into labor, my parents brought me to the front of the clinic, where they told the nurses to cut my belly open with scissors.
They took my umbilical cord and wrapped it around my sister’s neck, and the doctors cut it off.
“That’s my sister, right?”
They told me that she would have her appendix removed when she was five weeks old, but my mother and sister had already had surgery to remove it.
The doctors had cut my umbelical cord in half, and with it, my sister and I had the opportunity to have our baby.
“Yes, that’s my little sister,” my father said, and his voice cracked.
“But how old is she?”
My mother and I sat together in the waiting room, and when my father came out, he told the waiting nurse, “There’s no need to cut her,” and she immediately started to cut.
My eyes were wide open, and tears began to roll down my cheeks.
My baby had just arrived.
My mom and I couldn’t believe it.
My little sister had just been born, and now we had the chance to have him.
My grandmother took the baby to the waiting area, where she began to take off my umbillical cord.
“No, she has to go through a long process,” my grandmother said, her voice shaking.
“There are two procedures that are done before the umbilicals are removed.
The first is called the perineum, and it’s where the blood vessels in the legs meet. The other