When she was a baby, she was inconsolable, always desperate for attention, but unsatisfied when she got it. When she was a child, she was uncharacteristically despairing, reacting to each bit of ill news tangential to her own circumstance with anxiety and sorrow. When she was a teenager, she isolated herself from her peers, as everything they said stung with great venom and they could never understand. When she was in college, she mourned her high school years and wept for how they held her back. Now an adult, she wonders whether she would be so full of woe had she been born a day later, or had her parents never heard a nursery rhyme.
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I don't understand the last phrase.
Monday's child is fair of face,Tuesday's child is full of grace,Wednesday's child is full of woe,Thursday's child has far to go,Friday's child is loving and giving,Saturday's child works hard for a living,But the child who is born on the Sabbath DayIs bonny and blithe and good and gay.