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The wind coming off Lake Michigan felt like tiny shards of glass hitting my face. I was wedged in the back seat of my Honda CR-V, wrestling a screaming six-month-old out of a Michelin-man snowsuit while the heater blew pathetic...

I'm standing in the middle of Mt. Tabor park, staring at a patch of mud, watching my eleven-month-old aggressively rip a perfectly good knit beanie off his head for the fourteenth time in ten minutes. He doesn't even look angry....

My mother-in-law told me I needed to wrap him in three layers of thick wool or he'd catch pneumonia in the middle of a Chicago July. The lactation consultant told me to use absolutely zero fabrics, stick to skin-to-skin only,...

July in Chicago is a specific kind of miserable. The window unit in our living room sounds like a dying tractor, fighting a losing battle against the humidity. My daughter is asleep on a playmat in just a diaper, looking...