My goddaughter turned seven on Sunday. Here's an essay I wrote about her just after she was born. Here's what I wrote about her in my Tinyletter on the occasion of her first birthday. I am thinking particularly of the part that goes:

"I was sitting on the floor with Mila on Sunday, watching her crawl around, wishing I could tell her something. What? I don't know. Something urgent. Wishing, I think, that she could understand that fierceness with which she was wanted: what it felt like to be in the room where she wasn't, and then, in an instant! a room where she was. A thing I will never be able to describe: the way Allison's mother and I collapsed into each other's arms the first time we heard Mila cry. How utterly shattering her birth was."

Anyway, now she's seven and can do cartwheels and handstands and is into Paramore and Ellie Goulding and Pokemon and drawing anime characters. She's just a kid, and also, she's still a fucking miracle. I love her so, so much. 

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I spent the weekend in Seattle celebrating her, and honestly, I'm still zonked, so that's all I have to say about that. But I did publish something this week, a piece about how WAGs are using TikTok to tell their own stories-- and become the main characters of lives that are often dominated by their husbands' careers. 

Also, I have a reporting question for you, my newsletter readers! I'm writing a piece about divorce, and how it often forces women to learn more about money than they ever have before. Are you divorced? Did getting divorced change your level of financial literacy? Would you be willing to go on the record with me about that experience? (We can potentially anonymize you if the story istoo sensitive or personal to be in your Google search history forever.) If so, shoot me an email, zanopticon@gmail.com, please and thank you.