The Midnight Hours

Between midnight and morning, we lived a life no one else saw, and I still carry it with me. A secret world of breath, milk, and memory I’ll never forget.

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I used to think the only thing I’d remember was how hard it all was.

My first had colic, screaming like clockwork every evening at 5:30 p.m., sometimes for hours. Nothing helped. We bounced on the exercise ball, faster and higher until our legs burned. We wore grooves into the neighborhood sidewalks, walking him in the carrier. I did t…