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I was thirty-four weeks pregnant, sweating through a maternity dress in a stuffy Chicago living room, watching my auntie aggressively hand out neon pink loofahs to women in their mid-thirties. The air was thick with the smell of catered samosas...

I was standing in our living room holding exactly forty-two miniature plastic pacifiers threaded onto pastel pink ribbons, staring blankly at my wife. Outside, it was doing that classic Portland drizzle, but inside, our house had been converted into a...

I'm sitting on a terribly uncomfortable velvet pouf in a semi-detached house in Richmond, watching my wife—who's thirty-four weeks pregnant with twins and currently harboring the pelvic stability of a Jenga tower in an earthquake—pretend she enjoys sniffing a nappy...

I was standing in my sister-in-law's cramped kitchen, holding a flimsy plastic spoon, trying to scrape melted, lukewarm Snickers out of a newborn diaper while seven women I barely knew stared at me in absolute silence. The chocolate had congealed...

It's 2:43 AM, and I'm holding a tiny human who's laughing hysterically at a completely blank wall. I'm staring at my phone's spreadsheet where I track his input/output logs and exact ambient room temperature (68.4 degrees, for the record), trying...