Notes from Baby Jail
When raising children becomes a solitary act, time changes shape.
"Should we go out?" we look at each other with a deep, guilty hope that the other feels the same. The question hangs in the air like a soap bubble – entrancing, fragile, and destined to pop.
My day started at 4:30 AM when my youngest decided he'd had enough sleep, and it was officially playtime. It is now 8:00 PM, the kids…
