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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...