A year ago, we drove down to Santa Barbara to celebrate New Year's. We ate at a restaurant called Seven. It was hip and fun and had overpriced, overwrought drinks.
What we didn't realize is that we had already conceived a child. I'm convinced this happened a year ago today. When we had our Cajun breakfast the next morning, when we walked down State Street taking selfies and laughing together, when we celebrated 2015 in a burst of drunken joy at some bar in Goleta, I was pregnant.
Hell of a year.