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“Aw! How old is she?!” I didn’t look up, but continued unzipping my infant daughter’s ladybug sleeper and unsnapping her onesie, both of which were soaked through with urine. My husband turned toward the curious women and smiled. “Three days old.” I

“Mooom!” my five-year-old cried. “We are trying to go to sleep!” “I’m almost done.” My husband said, “Do you really need to do that right now?” “Yes,” I replied. “If I go into labor tonight, I want to know the carpet's vacuumed.” My husband

I really wanted to go camping for our last-minute babymoon. I planned on packing a blow-up mattress and rolling around in the tent like a walrus until I got comfortable, but then the weather channel showed rain and a high

Last week, before my two-year-old daughter’s hernia surgery, I found myself taking extra time to stare into her eyes. One of the most vivid encounters happened before nap time. For about fifteen minutes, I laid there beside her on the