Magazine

2:14 AM. Chicago winter. The sound from the bassinet wasn't a cry, it was a wet, unmistakable explosion. I turned on the dim nursery lamp and found my previously pristine infant lying in what looked like a puddle of melted...

I was wearing this horrific floral maternity dress—the one with the giant sunflowers that basically made me look like a walking, heavily-breathing sofa from 1993—sitting on my sister’s beige rug opening gifts at my shower for Maya seven years ago....

Dear Past Me, I know exactly where you're right now. You're standing over the changing table in the nursery at 3:14 AM. You're wearing those gray maternity sweatpants with the bleach stain on the left knee, and you haven't washed...