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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

This Wednesday, while hiding in the bathroom, I tried to call local libraries and bookstores to line up book events for The Alliance, but my girls (four years old and nineteen months) couldn’t stand being separated from me. So, they pounded on the door and twisted on the handle until I had to open it and usher them inside. The three of us stood in front of the sink, looking at each other in the mirror, as I continued to wait on hold. A few hours later, I received an extortion letter that required me to sit on the floor while a stranger told me how much I (allegedly) owe. Needless to say, Wednesday was not my favorite and had my husband praying before dinner, “Thank you for this . . . day.” And then he opened his eyes and grinned at me across the table because, in that pause, he'd purposefully omitted the word “good.” But then, as my husband and I were tucking our eldest into bed, she looked at me and said, "Did your book camed out?" I titled my head. "My book?" She nodded in the dark. "The one with the plane. Did it camed out?" I touched her chin. "No, not yet." "But your other ones camed out?" I smiled at her, my throat tight. "Yes. two." My husband and I looked at each other across her pink comforter, and the stress from the entire day just melted off me. I could tell by my his smile that it had melted off him too. Sometimes, if I’m just honest with you (and what's the point of all this if I'm not?), I wonder if I’m making the right choice by pursuing an author career while my children are so young. I wonder if, otherwise, I’d do more macaroni crafts, read more books, be more patient, bake complicated, raw-food cookies that my children actually like. What if--once my

Yesterday, I found myself sitting in a chair along the wall of a turquoise room in a birthing house, though I myself am not pregnant. On the adjacent wall, a yellow curtain with a sateen sheen fluttered from the air