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...

The rain was pounding on the windshield of my Honda Odyssey in a Chicago Target parking lot. I was sitting there with the engine idling, watching my toddler sleep in his car seat, dreading the moment I had to wake...

It was 2017. Maya was roughly six months old, and I was sitting on the severely scratched hardwood floor of our third-floor walk-up in Park Slope. My hair was twisted into a greasy topknot that was probably 40 percent dry...