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It was eleven at night on a Tuesday when the heavy bass started shaking my wipes warmer. Maya was ten months old and cutting her top two incisors simultaneously. I hadn't slept a full sleep cycle since Sunday. My younger...

The blue light from my phone was throwing weird, sharp shadows against the nursery wall. It was 3 AM. My son was finally asleep on my chest after a four-hour teething marathon that left us both smelling like sour milk...

It was 2:14 AM. I know the exact time because the glowing red numbers on our kitchen microwave were burning into my retinas while I swayed back and forth, doing that desperate zombie-mom bounce. I was wearing my husband Mark's...

I was standing barefoot on the cold bathroom tile at 2:14 in the morning, holding my oldest son plastered to my chest like a sweaty, screaming barnacle. He was ten months old, burning up with his first real fever, and...