The photograph from that morning looks peaceful: my daughter tucked beside my face, both of us exhausted, me smiling like the worst was finally behind us\u2014but about twenty minutes after that picture was taken, hospital security was called to my room because of my own sister.
\nI had barely slept.
\nMy daughter, Nora, had been born just before sunrise after a labor that lasted so long I stopped caring what time it was.
\nBy morning, my hair was stuck to the side of my face, my hospital gown was twisted under me, and I had an IV taped across my right hand.
\nI felt awful.
\nI also felt happier than I knew how to explain.
\nNora was lying beside me wrapped in one of those white hospital blankets with the pink and blue stripes. She wore a little cream-colored knit cap that kept sliding almost over her eyebrows.
\nEvery few minutes I would touch her cheek just to make sure she was real.
\nI was twenty-eight years old, single, scared about money, living in a small rental outside Olympia, Washington, and absolutely unprepared for half the things that were coming.
\nBut I knew one thing.
\nShe was mine.
\nAnd I wanted her.
\nThat sounds like something a mother should never have to say out loud.
\nUnfortunately, by lunchtime that day, I would have to say it over and over.
\nMy older sister, Lenora, arrived a little after eleven carrying an enormous canvas tote bag.
\nShe was seven years older than me and had always been the organized one in our family.
\nWhen we were kids, I lost homework inside my own backpack.
\nLenora labeled the shelves in her bedroom.
\nAs adults, not much had changed.
\nShe remembered birthdays.
\nShe sent thank-you cards.
\nShe owned a label maker.
\nShe had also been the person who helped me most during my pregnancy.
\nWhen Nora\u2019s father disappeared during my fourth month\u2014not literally disappeared, just decided fatherhood \u201cwasn\u2019t something he could handle\u201d\u2014Lenora was there.
\nWhen my hours at work were cut, Lenora bought groceries.
\nWhen my car battery died outside my OB\u2019s office, she drove forty minutes to get me.
\nWhen I started having blood-pressure problems near the end of the pregnancy, she came to appointments and wrote down everything the doctor said because I was too nervous to remember it.
\nThat was why seeing her walk into my hospital room made me smile.
\n\u201cYou look terrible,\u201d she said.
\nI laughed.
\n\u201cNice to see you too.\u201d
\nThen she saw Nora.
\nHer whole expression changed.
\nShe put the tote bag down.
\n\u201cOh,\u201d she whispered.
\nThat was all.
\nJust oh.
\nShe came closer and stood beside the bed staring at my daughter.
\nLenora and her husband, Wes, had tried to have children for nearly nine years.
\nThere had been treatments.
\nProcedures.
\nTwo miscarriages that I knew about.
\nAnother pregnancy they rarely discussed because Lenora lost it late enough that they had already painted the nursery.
\nEventually they stopped trying.
\nOr at least I thought they had.
\nSo when she looked at Nora with tears in her eyes, I understood.
\nAt least, I thought I understood.
\n\u201cWant to hold her?\u201d I asked.
\nLenora looked at me quickly.
\n\u201cYou mean it?\u201d
\n\u201cOf course.\u201d
\nI lifted Nora carefully.
\nMy sister sat in the chair beside the bed and took her.
\nFor a few seconds, Lenora looked exactly like the sister I knew.
\nShe smiled.
\nShe touched Nora\u2019s nose.
\nShe whispered, \u201cHi, sweetheart.\u201d
\nThen she said something I didn’t quite catch.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cNothing.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat did you say?\u201d
\nLenora glanced at me.
\n\u201cI said we finally got you here.\u201d
\nSomething about the sentence bothered me.
\nNot enough to scare me.
\nJust enough that I remembered it later.
\nA nurse named Carmen came in carrying paperwork and a plastic cup of water.
\nShe checked my IV, asked about pain, then looked at Nora.
\n\u201cLook who’s awake.\u201d
\nNora had opened one eye.
\nLenora smiled.
\n\u201cShe does that.\u201d
\nThe nurse gave her a slightly confused look.
\nThen she looked at me.
\n\u201cWe also need to finish a couple discharge details whenever you’re feeling up to it.\u201d
\n\u201cSure.\u201d
\nShe put the paperwork on the table.
\nLenora immediately asked, \u201cWill that be today or tomorrow?\u201d
\n\u201cDepends on Mom and baby.\u201d
\n\u201cI think tomorrow would be better.\u201d
\nCarmen looked at me.
\nI laughed awkwardly.
\n\u201cMy sister likes planning.\u201d
\n\u201cI can tell.\u201d
\nLenora didn’t laugh.
\nShe adjusted Nora\u2019s blanket instead.
\nA minute later, Carmen asked me to confirm the address where Nora would be going after discharge.
\nI gave her my address.
\nLenora’s hands stopped moving.
\n\u201cYou’re using that address?\u201d
\nI looked at her.
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\nThere was a strange silence.
\nCarmen glanced between us.
\nLenora smiled quickly.
\n\u201cSorry. I thought you might use ours because somebody will be home all day.\u201d
\n\u201cNo. She\u2019s coming home with me.\u201d
\nMy sister stared at me.
\nNot angrily.
\nThat almost would have been easier.
\nShe looked confused.
\nLike I had just changed the ending of a movie we’d both already seen.
\n\u201cKendra.\u201d
\nThat was the first time she used my name since walking into the room.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cCan we talk about this later?\u201d
\n\u201cThere isn’t really anything to talk about.\u201d
\nCarmen quietly collected one of the forms and said she would come back.
\nThe moment the door closed, Lenora lowered her voice.
\n\u201cI don’t think we need to do this right now.\u201d
\n\u201cDo what?\u201d
\n\u201cYou’re exhausted.\u201d
\n\u201cSo?\u201d
\n\u201cYou just gave birth.\u201d
\n\u201cI know.\u201d
\n\u201cYour hormones are all over the place.\u201d
\nI remember staring at her because I couldn’t understand why we were arguing.
\n\u201cLenora, what are you talking about?\u201d
\nShe looked down at Nora.
\nMy baby was sleeping again.
\n\u201cYou said you wanted her to have stability.\u201d
\n\u201cI do.\u201d
\n\u201cYou said you didn’t know how you’d afford daycare.\u201d
\n\u201cI don’t.\u201d
\n\u201cYou said your apartment is barely big enough.\u201d
\n\u201cOkay\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cAnd you said you couldn’t do this alone.\u201d
\n\u201cI was scared.\u201d
\n\u201cYou weren’t just scared, Kendra.\u201d
\nHer voice had become sharper.
\n\u201cYou asked me for help.\u201d
\n\u201cI ask you for help all the time.\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nShe shook her head.
\n\u201cNot like this.\u201d
\nI sat up a little farther despite the pain in my stomach.
\n\u201cWhat exactly do you think I asked you?\u201d
\nLenora didn’t answer immediately.
\nInstead, she looked toward the door.
\nThen she stood with Nora in her arms.
\nThat bothered me.
\n\u201cGive her to me.\u201d
\nLenora looked shocked.
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause you’re acting weird. Give me my baby.\u201d
\n\u201cKendra.\u201d
\n\u201cGive her to me.\u201d
\nShe hesitated.
\nOnly for a second.
\nBut I saw it.
\nI reached toward Nora.
\nMy sister stepped backward.
\nThat was when I raised my voice.
\n\u201cLenora.\u201d
\nThe door opened almost immediately.
\nCarmen came back inside.
\n\u201cEverything okay?\u201d
\n\u201cYes,\u201d Lenora said.
\n\u201cNo,\u201d I said at exactly the same time.
\nCarmen’s expression changed.
\nShe looked at my sister.
\n\u201cI’m going to ask you to put the baby back in the bassinet, please.\u201d
\nLenora stared at her.
\n\u201cShe’s fine with me.\u201d
\n\u201cI’m sure she is. But Mom is asking for her.\u201d
\nMy sister’s face flushed.
\n\u201cYou don’t understand.\u201d
\nCarmen remained calm.
\n\u201cThen put the baby down and explain it to me.\u201d
\nFor another few seconds, Lenora didn’t move.
\nFinally, she placed Nora in the bassinet.
\nI reached over immediately and pulled the bassinet closer to my bed.
\nCarmen asked Lenora to step toward the other side of the room.
\nMy sister looked humiliated.
\n\u201cThis is ridiculous.\u201d
\nI said, \u201cThen tell me what is happening.\u201d
\nLenora grabbed the large tote bag she had brought with her.
\nShe started digging through it.
\nThere were diapers inside.
\nBaby clothes.
\nA bottle.
\nA small stuffed rabbit.
\nI remember looking at those things and thinking it was odd that she had brought half a diaper bag to a hospital where everything for a newborn was already provided.
\nThen she pulled out a folder.
\nIt was thick.
\nNot a greeting card.
\nNot insurance forms.
\nA folder.
\nShe opened it and removed several pages.
\n\u201cI didn’t want to do this in front of a nurse,\u201d she said.
\n\u201cDo what?\u201d
\nShe walked toward me and placed the papers on the hospital tray.
\nI saw my name.
\nI saw Lenora’s name.
\nThen I saw Nora’s name typed into a blank space that looked far too official for something she had printed at home.
\nMy daughter had been alive less than a day.
\nHer name was already on a document I had never seen.
\nI looked up.
\n\u201cWhat is this?\u201d
\nLenora’s eyes filled with tears.
\nAnd then she said the sentence that brought hospital security to my door.
\n\u201cYou can’t suddenly change your mind, Kendra. You already signed her over to us.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a moment, nobody spoke.
\nI picked up the first page.
\nMy hands were shaking badly enough that the paper made a soft rattling sound against the plastic tray.
\nThere was a signature at the bottom.
\nIt looked like mine.
\nSort of.
\nThe K was too narrow.
\nThe last name leaned upward.
\nBut if you weren’t paying attention, you could believe it.
\nCarmen stepped closer.
\n\u201cMa’am, are you saying you did not sign this?\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nLenora made this frustrated sound.
\n\u201cThat’s not true.\u201d
\nI looked at her.
\n\u201cWhen did I sign it?\u201d
\n\u201cAt your apartment.\u201d
\n\u201cWhen?\u201d
\n\u201cIn August.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat day?\u201d
\nShe opened her mouth.
\nNothing came out.
\nI remembered August very well.
\nI had been twenty-nine weeks pregnant, working inconsistent shifts at a dental supply company and crying at stupid things like grocery receipts.
\nOne night, Lenora came over after I called her because I had received a bill I couldn’t pay.
\nI told her I was terrified.
\nI told her maybe Nora deserved people who had money and a house and two parents.
\nI also said something I would regret for months.
\n\u201cSometimes I wonder if she’d be better off with you.\u201d
\nI remembered Lenora hugging me.
\nI remembered her saying, \u201cWhatever happens, we’ll figure it out.\u201d
\nBut wondering whether somebody else could give my child more was not the same as agreeing to give my child away.
\nNot to me.
\nApparently, it had been something very different to Lenora.
\n\u201cIs this about that night?\u201d I asked.
\nShe stared at me.
\n\u201cYou asked us.\u201d
\n\u201cNo. I didn’t.\u201d
\n\u201cYou did.\u201d
\n\u201cI said maybe.\u201d
\n\u201cYou said she’d be better with us.\u201d
\n\u201cI was crying on my couch because I had ninety-four dollars until payday!\u201d
\nThe nurse quietly picked up the phone beside my bed.
\nLenora pointed at the paperwork.
\n\u201cYou signed forms.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat forms?\u201d
\n\u201cThe forms I brought later.\u201d
\nThen I remembered those too.
\nAbout three weeks after that conversation, I had been sent to the hospital because my blood pressure was dangerously high.
\nLenora stayed with me most of the night.
\nShe brought paperwork she said would allow her to speak with doctors or help make decisions if I became too sick to handle things myself.
\nI signed two pages.
\nMaybe three.
\nI didn’t read every sentence.
\nThat is one of the stupidest things I have ever done.
\nBut none of the documents I remembered mentioned adoption.
\nI told Carmen that.
\nShe nodded.
\n\u201cSecurity is on the way.\u201d
\nLenora went pale.
\n\u201cYou called security?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause the baby’s mother asked for her child back and you initially refused.\u201d
\n\u201cShe isn’t thinking clearly.\u201d
\n\u201cThat’s enough.\u201d
\nCarmen’s voice wasn’t loud.
\nIt didn’t need to be.
\nLenora started crying.
\nNot dramatic crying.
\nQuiet tears.
\nThat somehow made it worse.
\nThen my phone began ringing.
\nIt was Wes.
\nI stared at his name.
\nLenora looked at the screen too.
\n\u201cDon’t.\u201d
\nThat single word told me I absolutely needed to answer.
\n\u201cHi?\u201d
\nWes sounded breathless.
\n\u201cKendra, where is Lenora?\u201d
\nI looked at my sister.
\n\u201cShe’s here.\u201d
\nThere was a pause.
\nThen he said, \u201cWith the baby?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\nAnother pause.
\nLonger this time.
\n\u201cDo not let her leave.\u201d
\nI felt something twist in my stomach that had nothing to do with giving birth.
\n\u201cWhat is going on?\u201d
\n\u201cI’ll explain when I get there.\u201d
\n\u201cYou need to explain now.\u201d
\nHe exhaled.
\nThen he said something I still remember word for word.
\n\u201cKendra, everybody we know thinks we’re bringing that baby home tomorrow.\u201d
\nI stared at my sister.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\nLenora covered her face.
\nWes continued.
\n\u201cMy parents know. Her friends know. People from church know. There was a shower two weeks ago.\u201d
\nI honestly thought I’d misunderstood him.
\n\u201cA baby shower?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cFor my baby?\u201d
\n\u201cI thought you knew.\u201d
\nThe room suddenly felt too small.
\nLenora had told me she was going to a retirement party that Saturday.
\nShe had even sent me a photograph of herself dressed up.
\nApparently, she’d been standing inside a room filled with gifts for my unborn daughter.
\n\u201cWhy would you think I knew?\u201d I asked.
\n\u201cBecause she told me you didn’t want people bothering you about it.\u201d
\nI looked at my sister.
\nShe was crying harder now.
\nWes said, \u201cShe told me you agreed months ago.\u201d
\nI couldn’t answer.
\nBecause suddenly all the strange things from the pregnancy started rearranging themselves in my head.
\nThe expensive stroller Lenora insisted on buying.
\nThe questions about formula.
\nThe way she kept asking whether I liked the name Nora or whether I was \u201cstill deciding.\u201d
\nThe appointment she wanted to attend with me.
\nHer asking for a copy of my insurance card.
\nThe car seat she said she was keeping at her house \u201cjust in case.\u201d
\nNone of those things had seemed dangerous individually.
\nTogether, they looked completely different.
\nSecurity arrived.
\nTwo officers entered.
\nA hospital administrator came with them.
\nLenora tried to explain.
\nThen I tried to explain.
\nThen everybody spoke at once.
\nEventually, one officer asked Lenora to step into the hallway.
\nShe refused.
\nNot violently.
\nShe just kept saying, \u201cNo, you’re making this look insane.\u201d
\nThen she turned toward me.
\n\u201cKendra, tell them.\u201d
\n\u201cTell them what?\u201d
\n\u201cThat you asked me.\u201d
\n\u201cI didn’t.\u201d
\n\u201cYou did.\u201d
\n\u201cI was scared!\u201d
\n\u201cSo was I!\u201d
\nHer voice cracked.
\nAnd suddenly all that controlled, organized Lenora disappeared.
\n\u201cYou have no idea what it’s like watching everybody else get the one thing you can’t have.\u201d
\nThe room became silent.
\nShe pointed toward Nora.
\n\u201cI spent nine years watching people complain about being pregnant. Complain about diapers. Complain their kids woke them up. I would have given anything for that.\u201d
\nI said quietly, \u201cI know.\u201d
\n\u201cNo, you don’t.\u201d
\n\u201cYou’re right. I don’t.\u201d
\nThen I looked at the paperwork.
\n\u201cBut that doesn’t make her yours.\u201d
\nLenora’s expression changed.
\nThat sentence hit her.
\nShe sat down.
\nNobody said anything for a few seconds.
\nThen she whispered, \u201cI already built her room.\u201d
\nI almost felt sorry for her.
\nAlmost.
\nBut Nora moved inside the bassinet and made one of those tiny newborn noises.
\nAnd whatever sympathy I felt was immediately followed by anger.
\n\u201cYou built a room for my child without telling me.\u201d
\nLenora looked at the floor.
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd you had a shower.\u201d
\nShe nodded.
\n\u201cAnd you told people I gave her to you.\u201d
\nAnother nod.
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\nShe wiped her face.
\n\u201cBecause once I started saying it, I didn’t know how to stop.\u201d
\nThat sentence was probably the most truthful thing she said all day.
\nWes arrived about forty minutes later.
\nHe looked like somebody had punched him.
\nHe didn’t go to Lenora first.
\nHe came directly to my bed.
\n\u201cI’m sorry.\u201d
\nI had known Wes for twelve years.
\nI had never seen him cry before.
\n\u201cI swear to you, Kendra, I thought you had agreed.\u201d
\nI believed him.
\nLater, I learned Lenora had even shown him text messages from me out of context.
\nMessages where I said things like:
\nI don’t know how I’ll do this.
\nShe’s lucky to have you.
\nI couldn’t survive this pregnancy without you.
\nNormal sentences.
\nBut arranged beside Lenora’s version of events, they sounded like something else.
\nWes told me he had repeatedly asked whether they needed an attorney.
\nLenora told him everything would be handled after the birth.
\nThe paperwork she brought to the hospital wasn’t legally valid as an adoption.
\nThe hospital figured that out very quickly.
\nOne of the pages appeared to be a template downloaded online.
\nAnother had been modified from the medical authorization I’d actually signed.
\nThe signature on the final page was not mine.
\nPolice took copies.
\nI could have pushed the situation much farther legally.
\nFor a while, I thought I would.
\nMaybe I should have.
\nBut at the time, I was exhausted, sore, terrified, and holding a newborn.
\nI wanted my sister away from me.
\nThat was all.
\nLenora was escorted out of the maternity floor.
\nBefore she left, she turned toward me.
\nI expected another argument.
\nInstead, she looked at Nora and whispered, \u201cI’m sorry.\u201d
\nI didn’t answer.
\nThe following afternoon, I took my daughter home.
\nNot to Lenora’s house.
\nNot to the beautiful nursery she had apparently spent months building.
\nTo my cramped two-bedroom rental with the noisy refrigerator and the neighbor upstairs who vacuumed at ridiculous hours.
\nI had a secondhand crib.
\nThree packs of diapers.
\nFrozen dinners my mother brought over.
\nAnd exactly $211 in my checking account after rent cleared.
\nBut Nora came home with me.
\nThe first few months were hard.
\nReally hard.
\nThere were nights I sat on the kitchen floor holding her because it was the only place where the sound of the exhaust fan calmed her down.
\nI returned to work earlier than I wanted.
\nMy mother watched Nora three days a week.
\nI found a daycare run by a woman named Mrs. Daugherty who had been caring for children in her house since before I finished middle school.
\nMoney was constantly tight.
\nI bought baby clothes from consignment stores.
\nI learned which grocery store marked meat down on Wednesday mornings.
\nAnd there were absolutely moments when I wondered whether Lenora had been right about one thing.
\nMaybe Nora could have had an easier life somewhere else.
\nBut easier isn’t the same as better.
\nAnd struggling doesn’t mean you stop being somebody’s mother.
\nWes moved out of their house about a month after the hospital incident.
\nI didn’t ask him to.
\nI didn’t even know until my mother told me.
\nHe and Lenora eventually separated.
\nNot because she couldn’t have children.
\nNot even entirely because of what happened with Nora.
\nAccording to him, it was because he realized he no longer knew when Lenora was telling him the truth.
\nThat broke something between them.
\nLenora started therapy.
\nFor nearly ten months, I didn’t speak to her.
\nShe sent birthday cards to me.
\nChristmas gifts for Nora.
\nI returned the first two.
\nI kept the third in a closet unopened for almost a month.
\nEventually I opened it.
\nIt was a wooden music box.
\nNo letter asking to visit.
\nNo request for forgiveness.
\nJust a small card.
\nIt said:
\nI know loving her did not give me the right to claim her. I know helping you did not create a debt. I am sorry I made my grief your responsibility.
\nThat was the first apology from Lenora that didn’t include the word but.
\nI kept the card.
\nI still wasn’t ready to see her.
\nPeople sometimes act like forgiveness is a door.
\nYou open it.
\nEverybody walks through.
\nThe family is fixed.
\nI don’t think it works that way.
\nFor me, forgiveness looked more like removing one lock at a time.
\nI stopped being angry every morning.
\nThen I stopped checking my locks twice at night.
\nThen I stopped wondering whether Lenora was going to show up at Nora’s daycare.
\nEventually, I agreed to meet her for coffee.
\nJust the two of us.
\nNora stayed with my mother.
\nLenora looked older.
\nNot physically, exactly.
\nJust tired in a way I hadn’t seen before.
\nShe didn’t ask to see Nora.
\nThat mattered.
\nWe talked for almost two hours.
\nThere was no big reunion.
\nNo dramatic hug.
\nMostly there were uncomfortable silences.
\nAt one point she said, \u201cI think I convinced myself that because I could give her more, wanting her was somehow generous.\u201d
\nI asked, \u201cDo you still believe that?\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nShe stirred her coffee.
\n\u201cI think I wanted to turn my pain into something good so badly that I stopped caring who I hurt.\u201d
\nThat answer didn’t fix everything.
\nBut it sounded real.
\nNora is almost two now.
\nShe’s loud.
\nFearless.
\nObsessed with blueberries.
\nShe hates socks and somehow manages to remove them in the car even when I think I’ve put them on properly.
\nThe hospital photograph of us is framed in my bedroom.
\nSometimes people see it and say, \u201cYou look so peaceful.\u201d
\nAnd I laugh.
\nBecause I know what happened twenty minutes later.
\nI know that while I was lying there smiling beside my newborn, my sister had a tote bag on the floor containing clothes for a baby she believed she was taking home.
\nI know there was a nursery waiting in another house.
\nA car seat installed in another car.
\nPeople expecting photographs of another woman’s new daughter.
\nFor a long time, that made the picture feel ruined.
\nNow it doesn’t.
\nNow when I look at it, I notice something else.
\nMy hand is resting beside Nora.
\nEven exhausted, even medicated, even completely unaware of what was about to happen, I had moved my hand toward her.
\nAlmost like I was protecting her without knowing I needed to.
\nLenora has seen Nora twice since then.
\nBoth times were with me there.
\nI don’t know what their relationship will become.
\nI’m not promising anyone anything anymore.
\nNot Lenora.
\nNot my parents.
\nNot relatives who think \u201cfamily should move on.\u201d
\nMaybe someday my sister will become someone Nora knows and trusts.
\nMaybe she won’t.
\nThat decision will be made slowly.
\nNot because somebody bought groceries.
\nNot because somebody decorated a nursery.
\nNot because somebody helped me when I was scared.
\nAnd definitely not because of a piece of paper in a hospital tote bag.
\nI used to feel guilty saying that.
\nI don’t anymore.
\nBecause the lesson I took from that morning wasn’t that my sister was evil.
\nShe wasn’t.
\nShe was grieving, dishonest, desperate, and terribly wrong.
\nSometimes people we love can hurt us without becoming monsters.
\nAnd sometimes understanding why they did it doesn’t mean we have to pretend it didn’t happen.
\nNora was never a reward for helping me.
\nShe wasn’t a solution to Lenora’s grief.
\nShe wasn’t something our family could redistribute according to who had the bigger house or the better bank account.
\nShe was my daughter.
\nThat morning in the hospital, surrounded by paperwork, nurses, security officers and a sister I barely recognized, that was the only fact that mattered.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The photograph from that morning looks peaceful: my daughter tucked beside my face, both of us exhausted, me smiling like the worst was finally behind us\u2014but about twenty minutes after that picture was taken, hospital security was called to my room because of my own sister. I had barely slept. My daughter, Nora, had been […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":13,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ilolyou.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/ilolyou.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/ilolyou.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ilolyou.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ilolyou.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=12"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/ilolyou.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":14,"href":"https:\/\/ilolyou.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12\/revisions\/14"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ilolyou.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/13"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ilolyou.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=12"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ilolyou.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=12"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ilolyou.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=12"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}