By Annalise Grueter: When I thought about my mid-thirties, I always imagined life being defined by little feet. Bright eyes in small rosy faces, dirty hands, and inimitable high voices by turns loud, demanding and soft, impossibly sweet. I thought days would be a carousel of pre- and elementary-school pickups and drop-offs, tiny dancers and soccer cleats, aggressive snuggles and small bodies caught in maelstroms of emotion, the bedside passing forward of lullabies from my own youth.  It never...