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I was thirty-four weeks pregnant, sitting cross-legged on the floor of a craft store in Lincoln Park, quietly crying over a skein of mustard yellow yarn. My feet were swollen to the size of small hams. My lower back felt...

I was standing in the hospital parking lot in late October with a three-day-old Leo, clutching a lukewarm Americano in one hand and staring at his car seat in a total panic. It was windy, and I was wearing those...

There I was, thirty-four weeks pregnant, standing under the humming fluorescent lights of a big box craft store with three skeins of neon yellow acrylic yarn in my basket. I had this sudden, hormonal conviction that I was going to...

Es war drei Uhr nachts an einem schwülen Augusttag. Ich war im achten Monat schwanger mit meinem Ältesten – der heute übrigens mein wandelndes Warnschild für so ziemlich jede Erziehungsentscheidung ist. Ich saß auf dem Fußboden meines völlig überhitzten Wohnzimmers...

My mother-in-law—who's generally a lovely woman but keeps her thermostat set to what I can only describe as 'tropical terrarium'—told me when Leo was born that I needed to dress him in thick wool from head to toe or he...

It was two in the morning in mid-February. The kind of Chicago night where the wind off Lake Michigan sounds like a structural failure. I reached into the crib and unzipped my son's heavy fleece sleep sack. His chest was...