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I was thirty-four weeks pregnant, sitting in the dark at two in the morning, paying a sketchy app five dollars to merge my face with my husband's. The result loaded on my phone screen and I just stared at it....

I'm standing in the middle of my oldest kid's nursery at 3 AM, holding him like a football, wondering why he's staring dead-eyed at the beige wall instead of the seventy-dollar organic cotton mobile I bought him. I'm exhausted, my...

I was hanging over the bassinet at three in the morning making a sound I can only describe as a dying seal. Day forty-two of my maternity leave. I smelled like sour milk and desperation. I had spent the last...

It was exactly 2:14 AM. I know this because I was staring obsessively at the red digital clock on our microwave while sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor. I was wearing my husband’s oversized, threadbare college t-shirt, crying softly into...

Everyone tells you that once you hit the sixteen-week mark, the clouds part and the angels sing. They call it the end of the fourth trimester, like you're suddenly crossing a finish line into this magical land of predictable naps...