Magazine

The fluorescent lights at the pharmacy were humming a specific pitch of anxiety while a nineteen-year-old named Tyler adjusted a digital camera. I was holding my squirming four-month-old up by his armpits, trying desperately to keep my own hands out...

"Just take the picture against the fridge," my sister texted me while I was wrist-deep in a morning blowout. "No, beta, you've to go to the pharmacy and hold him up like Simba," my mother countered on speakerphone, completely unbothered...