Houston, we have no problem

I’m in Concord, spending time with my favorite 17-month-old. Residents work 80 hours a week, and H is currently on night float. A also needs to work extended hours these days, though centered on a standard 8-hour day. They literally haven’t seen each other since the weekend. Sweet B has wonderful daycare, but all this parental striving leaves short periods uncovered morning and evening. That’s me.

B’s actually outgrown her Bumbo, but she’s taken to squeezing back into into it, chanting her version of “three, two, one,” and expecting to be blasted off and rocketed around the house, usually trailing this now flabby New Year’s balloon. I exist to serve.

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