Forming a community of parents, writing about our agonizing moments of self-doubt and shame when we lose it and scream back at our screamers, allow us to feel less alone during the isolating and terrifying journey of raising babies and young kids.
On opening night, our family of five went to see The Jungle Book. The excitement among the kids was palpable. I sat between my oldest and youngest daughters, one my beloved through adoption, another my beloved through the biology of my body.
It was the first night of Passover, and I was trying to coax my four-year-old into a clean outfit for the Seder. Her polka-dotted tank top from two summers ago and mismatched biking shorts didn't seem appropriate for a formal religious dinner on a cold evening in Chicago.