I know one thing about babies: They are mysterious. I learned this when my two-year-old was a baby, but I buried this nugget of truth in the recesses of my brain, which is disorganized to begin with. I can barely remember where I put my phone.
I sailed through my second pregnancy, blissfully unaware of what was to come. My carefree life had already been obliterated with the birth of our first child. We’d barely notice the addition of a mere eight to ten pounds worth of additional human in our household. This was what I told myself, along with a few other handy lies.
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